After Ever Happy (After #4) (13 page)

I feel antsy and impatient, nauseated and exhausted, and it’s the worst fucking combination.

“She will be here in twenty minutes!” James says. I open my eyes and find him dressed and walking in circles in the small living room.

“We know. Shut up, already. We go through this once a month.” Janine lights a joint, and I reach for it the moment she exhales.

I have to self-medicate; there is no other option for a coward like me, hovering in a corner and hiding from the throbbing ache of having my entire life ripped away from me.

I cough on the first hit. My lungs haven’t missed the dry burn from forcing too much pot on them. After the third hit, the ache dims, the numbness taking over. Not completely the way it should, but I’m getting there. I’ll be back in form.

“Give me that, too.” I reach for the bottle in Janine’s hand.

“It’s not even noon,” she says, screwing the lid on.

“I didn’t ask you for the time and temperature. I asked for the vodka.” I rip it from her hands, and she huffs in annoyance.

“So you dropped out of uni, then?” Mark asks, blowing circles with the smoke leaving his mouth.

“No . . .”
Shit.
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.” I take a swig of the liquor, welcoming the burn as it travels down into my empty body. I have no fucking idea what I’ll do about school. I only have half a semester left until I graduate. I’ve already turned in the graduation paperwork and opted out of the damn ceremony. I also have an apartment with all my shit in it and a car parked at Sea-Tac Airport.

“Janine, go make sure the sink is empty of dishes,” Mark says.

“No, I always get stuck doing your fucking dishes—”

“I’ll buy your lunch. I know you’re broke,” he says, which works, and she leaves us alone in the living room. I can hear James shuffling around in his bedroom; it sounds like he’s redecorating the place.

“What’s with this Carla chick?” I ask Mark.

“She’s James’s girlfriend. She’s real cool, actually, but she’s a bit of a snob. Not like bitchy or anything, she’s just not into all this shit.” Mark waves his hands around the dingy apartment. “She’s in med school and her parents have money and shit.”

I laugh. “Then what the hell is wrong with her that she’s with James?”

“I can hear you, cunts!” James yells from his bedroom.

Mark’s laughing now, much harder than I am. “I don’t know, but he’s fucking pussy-whipped and panics every time she comes to visit. She lives in Scotland, so it’s only like once a month, but this is how it always is. He’s always trying to impress her. That’s why he enrolled in uni, even if he already failed two classes.”

“And that’s why he fucks your sister all the time?” I raise a brow. James was never a one-woman man, that’s for damn sure.

James pops his head around the corner to defend himself. “I only see Carla once a month, and I haven’t fucked Janine in weeks!” He disappears again. “Now stop talking shit before I kick both your asses out!”

“Fine! Go shave your balls or something,” Mark taunts him, and passes the joint to me. He taps the label on the vodka bottle resting between my legs. “Look, Scott, I’m not into all this relationship-drama bullshit, but you’re not fooling anybody here with this whole act.”

“It’s not an act,” I snap.

“Sure, sure. All I’m getting at is that you show up here in London after being gone for three years, not to mention that chick you brought with you.” His eyes move from my face to the bottle, to the joint. “And you’re bingeing. Plus, I think your hand is broken.”

“It’s none of your business. Since when do you give a fuck about bingeing? You do it every day.” I’m growing more and more annoyed with Mark and his sudden need to pry into my fucking life. I ignore his comment about my hand, which admittedly is turning purple and green. But that shitty drywall couldn’t have broken my hand.

“Don’t be a dick; you can indulge all you want. I don’t remember you being this sensitive; you were fucking ruthless before.”

“I’m not sensitive; you’re just making something out of nothing. That chick is some random girl from my college in America. I met her and fucked her. She wanted to see England, so she paid our way here, and I fucked her again in the queen’s realm. End of story.” I take another drink of vodka to drown the bullshit I’m spewing.

Mark still doesn’t look convinced. “Sure.” He rolls his eyes—a pesky habit he picked up from his sister.

Annoyed, I turn and face him, but even before I speak, I feel bile rising in my throat. “Look, when I met her, she was a virgin, and I fucked her to win a bet worth a good chunk of fucking change, so, no, I’m not sensitive. She’s no one to me—”

This time I can’t swallow it down. I cover my mouth and dash past James, who ends up cussing me out for puking all over the bathroom floor.

T
his thing is like a little laptop.” I press another button on my new gadget. My new iPhone has more functions than a computer. I run my finger over the large screen, tapping on the small squares. Tapping on the small camera box, I jump back when an unflattering angle of me cringes back at me. I quickly close it, pressing down on the Safari icon. I type Google because, well, that’s my first instinct. This phone is so odd. It’s more than confusing, but I’m in no hurry to learn how to navigate the thing. I’ve only had it for ten minutes and haven’t even left the store yet. Everyone makes it seem so simple, tapping and sliding their fingers across the gigantic screen, but there are so many options. Too many, really.

Still, I suppose it’s fun to have so many options to occupy my time. This thing could keep me busy for hours, days maybe. I scroll through the music choices and am amazed by the idea of having endless songs at the tap of a finger.

“Did you want me to help you transfer your contacts and pictures and stuff to your new phone?” the young girl behind the counter asks. I had forgotten that she and Landon were here; I was so entranced by attempting to learn how to use this phone.

“Uhm, no, thank you,” I politely decline.

“Are you sure?” Her heavily lined eyes are surprised. “It only takes a sec.” She chews her gum.

“I have all the numbers I need memorized.”

She shrugs her shoulders and stares at Landon.

“I need yours,” I say to him. My mother and Noah’s numbers were always the only ones of necessity. I need a fresh start, a new beginning. My shiny new phone with only a few numbers saved in it will help that. As much as I always refused to get a new phone before, I’m glad I did now.

It feels surprisingly refreshing to start over: no contacts, no pictures, nothing.

Landon guides me through saving a new number, and we leave the store.

“I’ll show you how to get your music back. It’s easier on this phone anyway,” Landon says, smiling as he turns onto the freeway. We are on our way back from the mall, where I had to spend too much money on a week’s worth of clothes.

A clean break, that’s what this needs to be. No reminiscing, no scrolling through photo after photo. I don’t know where to go, what to do next, but I do know that holding on to something that was never mine will only hurt more.

“Do you know how my father is doing?” I ask Landon over lunch.

“Ken called in on Saturday, and they told him that Richard was adjusting. The first few days are going to be the worst.” Landon reaches across the table to steal fries from my plate.

“Do you know when I can visit him?” If all I have is my estranged-until-only-a-month-ago father and Landon, I want to hold on to both of them as closely as I can.

“I don’t know for sure, but I will ask when we get back to the house.” Landon looks over at me. I hold on to my new phone, bringing it to my chest without thinking about it. Landon’s eyes fill with sympathy. “I know it’s only been one day, but have you given New York any thought?” he asks cautiously.

“Yes, a little.”

I’m waiting to make the decision until I talk to Kimberly and Christian in person. I heard from her this morning, and she said they will be leaving England on Thursday. I’m still trying to figure out how it’s only Tuesday. It feels much longer than two days since I left London.

My mind goes to
him
and what he’s doing . . . or who he’s with. Is he touching that girl right now? Is she wearing his shirt again? Why am I torturing myself with thoughts of him? I’ve been avoiding him, and now I can see his bloodshot green eyes, I can feel the tips of his fingers brushing across my cheek.

I was both hurt and pathetically relieved when I found a dirty black T-shirt while rummaging through my suitcase at Chicago O’Hare. I started off looking for my phone charger and ended up finding his last blow. I couldn’t bring myself, no matter how many times I tried, to walk over and throw it into the nearest trash can. I couldn’t. Instead, I shoved it back into the suitcase and buried it under my clothes.

So much for a clean break, but I’m giving myself a break, given how hard all this feels. How my entire world has been ripped apart, and I’m left alone to sort out the pieces . . .

No
. As I resolved on the plane, I won’t indulge in such thinking. These thoughts are getting me nowhere. Feeling sorry for myself only makes it worse.

“I’m leaning towards New York, but I need a little more time to decide,” I tell Landon.

“Good.” His smile is contagious. “We would leave in about three weeks at the end of the semester.”

“I hope so.” I sigh, desperately wanting time to pass. A minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, any time that passes can only be a good thing for me at this point.

And so it does, time passes, and somehow I find myself moving along with it. The problem is, I haven’t decided if that’s a good thing or not.

O
pening the front door of the apartment, I’m surprised when I find all the lights on. Tessa usually doesn’t keep them all running at once; she’s a stickler for keeping our electricity bill low.

“Tess, I’m home. Are you in the room?” I call out. I can smell dinner in the oven, and soft music is playing on our little stereo.

I toss my binder and keys onto the table and go in search of her. I quickly notice that the bedroom door’s slightly open, and then I hear voices snaking out through the opening, as if riding the music out into the hallway. The moment I hear
his
voice, I shove the door open with anger.

“What the fuck!”
I scream, the sound booming through the small bedroom.

“Hardin? What are you doing here?” Tessa asks as if I’m intruding. She pulls the comforter up to cover her bare body, a faint smile resting on her lips.

“What am I doing here? What is
he
doing here?” I point an accusatory finger at Zed, who scrambles off the bed and begins pulling his boxers on.

Tessa continues to glare at me like I’m the one fucking some shithead in our bed. “You can’t keep coming here, Hardin.” The tone of her voice is so dismissive, so mocking. “This is the third time this month.” She sighs, lowering her voice. “Have you been drinking again?” The question is laced with sympathy and annoyance.

Zed crosses in front of the bed and protectively stands in front of her, his arm hovering over her . . . her swollen belly.

No . . .

“Are you?” I choke out. “You’re . . . you and him?”

She sighs again, tightening the blanket around her. “Hardin, we have been over this so many times. You don’t live here. You haven’t lived here for, I forget, something like over two years now.” She’s so matter-of-fact about it all, and the way her eyes search Zed’s face for help with my intrusion isn’t lost on me.

Confused, the air taken out of me, I crumple to my knees in front of the two of them. And then quickly feel a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, but you have to go. You’re upsetting her.” Zed’s voice gently mocks me.

“You can’t do this to me,” I beg her, reaching my hand toward her pregnant belly. It can’t be real. It
can’t
be real.

“You did this to yourself,” she says. “I’m sorry, Hardin, but you did this.”

Zed rubs her arms to calm her, and rage rips through me. I dig into my pocket and pull out my lighter. Neither of them notice; they just cling to each other as my thumb flicks over the lighter. The small flame is familiar, an old friend now, as I bring the flame to the curtain. My eyes close as Tessa’s face is illuminated by the angry flames consuming the room.

“HARDIN!” MARK’S FACE
is the first thing I see when my eyes fly open. I push his face away and fling myself from the couch and fall onto the floor in a panic.

Tessa was . . . and I was . . .

“You were having one hell of a dream, man.” Mark shakes his head at me. “Are you okay? You’re soaked.”

I blink a few times and run my hands through my sweat-drenched hair. My hand is killing me. I figured the bruising would lighten up by now, but it hasn’t.

“Are you okay?”

“I . . .” I have to get out of here. I have to go somewhere or do something. The image of the room in flames is burned into my memory.

“Take this and go back to sleep; it’s four in the morning.” He pulls the top off a plastic bottle and drops a single pill into my sweaty palm.

I nod, unable to speak. I dry-swallow the pill and lie back on the couch. Eyeing me one last time, Mark disappears back into his bedroom, and I pull my phone from my pocket and look at Tessa’s picture.

Before I can stop myself, my finger is running over the call button. I know I shouldn’t, but if I can just hear her voice once, maybe I’ll sleep peacefully.

“Your call cannot be completed as dialed . . .” a robotic voice intones coldly.
What?
I check my screen and try again. Same message. Again and again.

She couldn’t have changed her number. She wouldn’t . . .

“Your call cannot be . . .” I hear for the tenth time.

Tessa changed her number. She changed her phone number, to make sure I can’t reach her.

When I fall asleep again, hours later, I’m met with a different dream. It begins the same, with me coming home to that apartment, but this time no one is home.