by W. Winters
“Watch your fucking mouth.” My words come out sharp and as I turn toward him, everyone else takes a step back.
The heat rises and my shoulders feel tense.
James looks at me like a deer in fucking headlights. Like he didn’t see it coming. Like those weren’t fighting words that just came out of his mouth.
Before I can say a damn thing, I feel a strong arm push me back slightly, making me face Allison and not that asshole.
“Look who’s in the house,” Daniel says, wrapping his arm tighter around my shoulder and inserting himself between me and James. He keeps a strong grip on me and whispers for me to calm down. That she’s here and everything’s fine. That it’s not worth it. And that last line is what repeats itself as Allie comes closer, looking between all of us like she wishes she hadn’t come. That it’s not worth it.
The fuck it isn’t.
I struggle to know what to do. The whiskey and the anger swirl into a deadly concoction in the pit of my stomach.
I’m a fucking mess. Daniel’s good-natured laugh seems at odds with what’s flowing in my veins.
But he’s different from me. Daniel has a way of smiling through the bullshit. Of acting like things don’t bother him, when inside he’s envisioning slitting your throat. It’s how he was raised.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” he asks Allie as she glances from James to him, then to me before setting her purse down on the counter.
The metal links of the strap clink as they hit one another, and I force myself to focus on that, rather than the sound of James leaving the kitchen.
My teeth and fists are still clenched, the skin pulled taut over my knuckles.
“You tell me, sweetheart,” she says, mocking Daniel but her confidence is barely there, and her focus is split between us and watching James’s back.
“Shot?” Daniel asks as the music plays the word over and over. Another round of shots.
Her eyes flicker from me to him and as she parts her lips to respond, I interject. “Come on,” I tell her, grabbing her wrist and shrugging Daniel off of me.
He hovers for a moment as she stares back at me, ripping her arm away.
The tension grows and the air goes still and quiet; even the fucking music seems to dim as she considers whether or not to listen to me.
Shit, I guess it doesn’t matter either way.
I can see it written on her face. She’s running. From me and what we had. She only came here to tell me as much. Least she could do is to not say it in front of them.
“Lead the way, Neanderthal,” she says sarcastically, avoiding Daniel’s piercing gaze. Like he’s her fucking protector. I can see it. He’s watching the two of us like he knows shit’s about to go down. Judging by the way everyone averts their gaze when I look at them, he’s not the only one thinking that.
I ignore him as much as she does and lead her to the door, not really touching her, just staying close as we walk outside.
The music dies the second the door shuts and the sticky heat of the late summer air and faint sounds of crickets from the woods behind us surround us.
I could use a drag. It’s been ages since I’ve had a smoke but right now, I’m hit hard with the need for a cigarette.
“What’s wrong with you?” Allie asks me the moment she turns on her heels to face me.
“Where have you been?” I question her in return. “We came back Sunday. You missed two classes, texted me back with one-word answers and have been blowing me off.” I pace on the small cement landing in front of the door. “I mean, I knew shit was off on the way home, but all I asked from you was for you to be honest.”
“What wasn’t honest?” Allie bites back with anger. Good. I hope she’s pissed like I am.
“You don’t have to lie to be dishonest,” I say and even in my drunken stupor, I know that those words make more sense than any excuse she can come up with.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to tell you something anyway,” she starts and I scoff at her.
“I gave you the fucking over you needed, huh?”
She shakes her head, that gorgeous hair of hers swirling around her shoulders as the heat climbs and I run a hand through my hair. No matter how put together she is, her eyes can’t lie to me. She can look pissed or like she doesn’t care. But her eyes have the same sad look in them they did at the hotel.
“What are you talking about?” Exasperation is clear in her voice.
“You want to be with me or not, Allie?” I ask her the only question I need an answer to and her plump lips part slightly, the immediate answer begging to slip from them, but she stops herself, slamming her mouth shut and swallowing the words.
“I knew it,” I tell her and feel pathetic. I’m not the pathetic one, though. This is on her. She’s the one running from this. She’s the one who’s scared.
“It’s not you,” she says with way too little emotion in her voice. Like it doesn’t even matter.
“Oh, it’s not me, it’s you?” I ask with a bitter taste in my mouth. “Is that what you’re going for? Really? You can be more creative than that.” She flinches at the anger in my voice. “Come on Allie, I’ll give you a minute to come up with something better,” I sneer and lean into her. I’m pissed. I’m so fucking pissed.
It’s easier than being hurt.
Everyone pushes me away because they don’t want me. She wants me. I know she does. And still, I can’t hold on to her.
“How about the fact that you were ready to get into a goddamn brawl when I walked in. How about that?”
“How about it?” I ask back. I don’t remember quite what happened or what she knows. All I remember is that someone said something that they deserved to be punched for. I don’t tell her that though, I stand there like an ass, waiting for her to fill me in on what the hell happened.
I shouldn’t have drunk so much. If I’d known she was coming, I wouldn’t have.
“I don’t need you to stick up for me,” she says and James’s stupid fucking face flashes in my head.
“It’s not about sticking up for you. You’re mine.” I thump my hand against my chest to emphasize my words.
“I’m not yours. I don’t belong to anyone!” she screams at me and takes a step closer. The heat from the argument is at odds with the chill in the night air.
“Knock it off,” I tell her. “You know what I mean.”
“This is why I can’t ...” she starts to say, but even she can’t hold on to the thin excuse.
“Quit pushing people away—quit hiding,” I beg her through clenched teeth.
“How am I the one who’s hiding?”
“You just need a reminder of who you belong to, don’t you?” I ask her and take a step forward, closing the space between us. She’s so close. So small and all I want to do is pick her ass up and show her she’s mine. I can remind her. She just needs my touch.
“You’re drunk,” Allie says in a harsh whisper and looks behind me at the door to the frat house. I watch the hollow of her throat as she swallows thickly, and something flashes in her eyes.
“Would that make it better or worse?” I ask her and imagine taking her right here, right now. “If I fucked you right there in the dirt,” I offer her.
“Dean, don’t,” she whimpers and closes her eyes, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Like it hurt her. “Please,” she begs me and it’s like a slap in the face.
“Please what?” I ask her calmly, trying to pull my shit together. “I didn’t mean to …” Hurt her. I didn’t mean to put that look on her face.
“Allie Cat,” I speak softly, reaching up to hold her shoulders and pull her in closer, but she takes a step back. Her heels clack on the landing.
“I don’t want this,” she finally says and it’s then I see the tears. Real tears, flowing freely and she doesn’t brush them away. It stuns me for a second.
“Please, you’re drunk and this, what’s between us, it’s over.”
“Why?” I expect anger, but this feeli
ng in my chest isn’t that. “Just tell me why. I’ll fix it.”
I swear I can fix it. I can change. For her, I will.
“You don’t commit to a goddamn thing,” she says out of nowhere. Like she finally remembered the made-up excuse she could use.
“I committed to you!” The words come out loud and leave me hollow and empty. “I love you!” I yell the words although I don’t mean to. So loud, the words burn on their way up. I fucking love her. My heartbeat slows and the anger leaves in a slow wave at the realization. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve felt loved by someone, but I know she loves me back. Whether she says it or not. Somewhere in there she does. But she doesn’t want to and that’s what’s different about us.
“Well, that was your first mistake,” she says and waits. I stand there, letting everything hit me. What I feel, what she feels. When she turns around and the rapid pace of her heels echoes through the air, I feel numb.
Not because of what she said, I knew it was coming.
It’s because even feeling all this for her and knowing I love her, and that she loves me, it’s not enough.
Even with all that being true, she won’t stay with me. And I don’t know why.
27
Allison
I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.
It’s not just little hiccups and occasional outbursts when you least expect it. It’s the violent sobs that refuse to leave. The kind of crying that hurts your chest to the point where you’re in physical pain. The kind that makes you curl up and huddle in the middle of the floor with only a throw blanket as if it will save you.
But nothing can. Because the pain is from the inside.
This isn’t me. Dean broke me. He flipped a switch somewhere deep within me and I can’t find it. I can’t flick the damn thing back to where it’s supposed to be.
There’s not a part left remaining of the girl I set out to be. This isn’t what I planned.
Right now, all I want is him. I want to take it all back.
I want to be someone else. It’s not fair that these are the cards I was dealt. Or maybe I’m just an idiot for how I played them.
I pull the blue plaid throw tighter around my shoulders as a shiver runs through me. There’s a pile of used tissues next to me and I hate them. They’re evidence that I’m losing myself. Or maybe I’ve just been hiding all along.
The thought makes my spine prickle with yet another freezing bite.
It’s cold.
Loneliness is cold.
Regret is even colder.
As I sit in the empty house, eerily quiet and waiting for the next bout of bullshit tears to consume me, I try to think of which part of all this I regret the most. Or maybe, a more difficult question to answer: at what point did I start to feel regret?
My body jolts when the phone in my hand pings.
I have several messages from my mother to read still. I can’t bring myself to look right now. I’m so weak I’d tell her everything.
I can feel the confession on the tip of my tongue. The last time I confessed to her, it ruined me and turned me hateful. I can’t make that mistake again.
I need to tell someone.
The words are so close to escaping, I almost told Angie. A girl I don’t even know. Simply because she was there to listen.
She spoiled it, though. I could feel the weight lifting off my shoulders before I even let the truth escape. Class was over, Dean never showed, and the emptiness inside me brewed to a boil. Even though it was perfect. This is perfect.
“I think it’s best to stay away from guys like that,” she told me.
And that’s what made me keep quiet.
What kept the words deep down inside.
What if I didn’t want to stay away?
What if I knew what I was doing?
She wouldn’t understand and she’d be disgusted with me if I told her what I really wanted. More than anything else. But it’s our secret. Our promise. They won’t know why.
My phone pings again and my body shudders. I’m quick to place it on silent but then the thought of missing a text from Dean makes me change it back.
Pathetic.
I’m so fucking pathetic. Clinging to the idea of what could be.
As if it would even be possible for someone like me.
Someone so consumed with destruction.
I glance at the texts from my mom.
The first line is from me to her.
Only an apology, and a vague one at that.
I’m sorry, I told her. I couldn’t not say it. Not while I sat in that hotel room wishing she were with me. Wishing I could take it all back. If only it were so easy to pluck words from the air and tuck them into your back pocket.
The series of texts from my mother hasn’t stopped since then.
I think she thought I’d killed myself until I told her I hadn’t.
I’m sorry for running. I sent her that text to explain, but it’s not much of an explanation at all. I can’t tell her the truth though because I’m still running, and she’ll stop me.
Just like Dean would.
They can’t stop this from happening. My body stiffens when I see my mother’s last text.
I’m coming to see you.
I start to respond, but what can I say? No, don’t. It’s not like she’ll listen.
When I delete it without hitting send, another text from her comes through.
You won’t talk to me and this has to stop.
What has to stop? I text back.
I know that will make her drop it. Because she can’t admit what happened. She can’t apologize to me for what she did. She can’t speak the truth.
I miss you, she finally answers me.
I wonder which version of me she misses. Probably the younger version. The one that isn’t so fucked in the head.
I miss the old me too. But she’s long dead and has been for years.
28
Dean
The beer is cold and the head of it foams just right. It looks like a picture for a beer ad as it sits on the walnut bar of the Iron Heart Brewery on Lincoln and Church.
My back’s to the door as I sit at the far end of the bar, closest to the large glass window. More people walk into the already crowded place, but I don’t pay any attention to the chatter. I only stare out the window at the parking lot across the street.
“You want something else?” the bartender asks me and when I look up at him, interrupting whatever thought was in my head, he nods to the untouched beer.
“Nah, I’m good,” I tell him and take a swig. Maybe I should ask for something stronger. Maybe I shouldn’t drink at all. I don’t know. I don’t know shit and that’s all I know for sure.
“All the way out here?” a voice too close for comfort asks and I turn around to see Daniel sliding onto the barstool next to me.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” he tells the bartender and then squares his shoulders forward and squints like he’s looking up at the menu.
“Some funny names for beer,” he says absently.
“All local drafts,” I tell him.
“Is that why you came all the way out here?” he asks me and I turn my gaze back to my beer and then take another long pull. I’m here because it’s right around the corner from Dr. Robinson’s office. I’m here because it’s easy. The beer’s good, the vibe is right, and everyone here leaves me the hell alone.
“How’d you find me?” I ask him and he shrugs.
“Been barhopping,” he says like it’s a coincidence. I huff in disbelief but I don’t push him. Daniel’s background isn’t exactly sparkling clean.
He slaps down a few five-dollar bills as his beer hits the bar and then he finally faces me.
“She really messed you up that bad?” Going right in for the kill.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I answer him simply, returning my gaze to the cracked concrete sidewalk across the street. A few people walk by and no one seems to noti
ce it.
“Fair enough,” he says with a nod and then asks for a menu.
“You’re making yourself right at home, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got to eat.”
I take a good hard look at him as he opens the menu and pretends like this is some casual meetup.
“You don’t have anything better to do?” I ask him and his dark gaze meets mine. There’s a challenge in his eyes but one he lets go of quickly.
“Nothing I feel like doing right now.”
Another moment passes and he closes the menu and pushes it forward, glancing over his shoulder to check out the game.
“What would you do?” I finally ask him. “If you were me?”
“If I wanted a girl, but she didn’t want me?” he asks like that’s what happened.
“She wants me,” I tell him confidently and he huffs a sarcastic laugh. “She’s scared,” I tell him in a raised voice I didn’t intend.
“Scared of you?” he asks like it’s a valid question and I can’t believe he’d say that.
“You think I’d hurt her?” My hackles raise, my muscles coiling. “I’d never give her a reason to fear me. I wouldn’t hurt a woman.”
“You’re the one who said she’s scared,” he answers me and I let the anger wane, listening to the murmur of talking around us and the sounds of the football game on the screen as I think about how to explain my Allie Cat.
“What’s she afraid of then?” Daniel asks me before I can tell him anything and I just shrug.
“What are we all afraid of?” I shoot back and then snort like I’m some fucking philosopher.
“Getting hurt … or maybe that we’ll be the ones to do the hurting,” Daniel answers with nothing but sincerity. My throat tightens and I struggle to release my breath as I take in the weight of what he said.
I nod and chug my beer, drinking it all down. It hits the bar with a loud ring from the empty glass and I signal for another.
“Sometimes people hurt the ones who get close to them.”
“I didn’t hurt her,” I say without looking away from the bar. I watch the bartender fill the glass, the beer spilling over before he wipes it off.
