Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (31 page)

Her silence is deafening. Much worse than the loudest cry. I know I've fucked it up and really hurt her good when she starts ignoring me. 

"What! Please tell me it wasn't Shana—bane of your existence—broke your ankle, Shana Bane, Shana? That must've been horrid."

"It was. She's exactly the same."

"Gross." Enzo scrunches up his face and sticks his tongue out.

"Yeah."

"Shit. I'm sorry he pulled such a stunt. How messed up. I'll try harder not to be right next time."

"What do you mean you were right? Right about what?" I demand.

"About taking breaks, and them never ending in a happily-ever-after."

"I only went there at all because of your whole 'persistence beats resistance' speech! It was very convincing!"

"Oooh. I meant in some cases, but in your case, I was actually betting on the other team."

I reach next to me to grab the remote and chuck it at his head. I have terrible aim, and it doesn't even come close. The remote hits the wall with a smash, leaving a gigantic dent in the drywall.

"Just perfect. And the day keeps getting better. Seriously, Enz, I took that advice and ran a marathon with it, you A-hole!"

"Hey, I meant the saying to be for me! I never told you to try it out."

"I know but it sounded so good."

"It did, didn't it?" His lips quirk up.

"Don't be smug, I was drunk when you said it."

My eyes begin to fill on their own accord. The sting of salt water and defeat all too apparent now.

"He's just scared, you know." He glances at me with doleful eyes before he walks over to inspect the new gash in the wall.

"
Bull-ogny
," I shout at him.

"It's true. He's terrified because he knows now how things like Amy's accident can happen at any time. It could very well have happened while they were dating, but more importantly it could've happened to you. And what then?"

He pauses for a moment to pass his hand back and forth over the dented drywall, no doubt wondering how much the fix is going to cost us out of our security deposit. He then continues to talk with his back to me. "The thought of something happening to possibly take you away from him doesn't sit well. He doesn't want to have you only because he doesn't want to lose you. You can't lose something you don't have."

He turns, facing me again.

"What you just said is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" I grab the nearest pillow to me and shove it right into my face before belting out a loud scream of frustration. I sound like a dying animal.

"Yes, it is." I pull the pillow from my face in time to see him shrug.

"Why spend the rest of your life being miserable anyway then, huh? The whole thing makes no sense at all."

"It does to him. Take it from me, guys can be idiots. We think different when we're not in our right minds."

"Gah! No kidding. I heard from Low today that he's going to a party tonight over at that Wes guy's house. I'm thinking about stopping by."

"Don't do it, Bee," he warns

"I need to. I almost don't have the strength anymore to try to fix this, and getting to the point of no return scares me. I have to do it now, while I still have some left. Before I'm completely empty," I whisper the last part too low for him to hear it.

"I know you think so. Bee, you're not thinking clearly right now. You can't see it, but take it from me as someone on the outside looking in, what you're about to do is so not a good idea."

"Why? What's the worst that could happen?"

"Other than you busting in all uninvited and shit, on a night he's probably going to be wasted and trying to have a good time, only to get pulled away to talk about feelings? Oh, nothing, All's gonna go over great." His hand being held up in the
A-Okay
gesture only emphasizes his sarcastic tone.

I ended up doing what any sane female in my position would do, I drove the forty-five minutes out of town, to some guy I barely know's house, so I can pull my
sort of
boyfriend away from all of the drunken fun being had and make him talk about his feelings.

So here I am, sitting in the driver's seat of my busted up Pontiac, parked in a driveway behind mounds of other cars belonging to the people here who were actually invited.

Now that I'm here, the thought that maybe this wasn't such a good idea takes hold. I have to push it away, though, because I'm already too invested to not see this through.

"Here goes everything," I whisper to myself as I take my phone out of my pocket and type out the text.

His reply comes right away and is unsurprisingly filled with shouty caps.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW

Me: STOP SHOUTY CAPPING ME AND NOPE NOT KIDDING. IN THE DRIVEWAY. NEED TO TALK.

I wait for another reply, but it never comes. What does come is a very hostile looking Roman, headed full speed out the door and toward my car. My passenger side door is ripped open, to the point where I thought it must've broke, and he slams himself into the seat next to me.

"What the fucking
fuck
are you doing here? I swear the only reason I'm even humoring you and sitting here right now is knowing you had to drive all of the way out here in the rain and dark, but, Rigbee, for the love of Christ, you better say what you came to say and then leave it the hell alone."

"I uh …" I'm thrown off by his request, seeing as how I came here to do exactly the opposite. "I don't think I can do that. We really need to talk," I tell him in such a soft voice I don't know if he's even able to hear it over the pounding droplets of rain impinging on the crest of my car.

"And you pick right now? You thought this-this was the best time for you to-to ambush me?" He jerks his hand up and swipes at the empty air around us in a messy attempt to show how
this
was
not in fact
the best time.

"There is no best time, and there's not going to be a best time, so I had to go with happening to know where you were going to be."

"Fucking Willow, man," he spits in exasperation.

Running both hands through his hair, he thrusts his back against the seat and states to himself, "I'm going to have to talk to her."

"Don't you dare: Willow's not the issue. This is about you and me." I firmly point my finger at him and then to myself to emphasize I mean business. "Roman, I love you. You know that by now. It's agonizing, and I'm in dire need to know what exactly is going on right about now. What are we doing? Where are we going? You've been leaving me with so many questions and I need them to be answered! I'm going crazy not knowing where we stand and what the hell is happening!"

He lowers his face and gazes down at the floorboard. Confliction weighs heavy on his face, ushering a pity from me I certainly don't want to give. I realize he is as tortured as I am.

But then, in a spry little bastard of an instant, it's gone. Something soul altering has seemingly now transpired and his face relaxes into a carefree smoothness. When he raises his eyes and focuses them back on me, I see it. Nothing.

The hollowness evident in his eyes prepares me for the outcome I've been dreading. His feelings for me are gone.

Devoid of all emotion, he grabs something from the pile of fast food bags and trash remnants by his feet and hands it to me. It's a nasty ass straw from a paper cup still a quarter of the way full of soda and has been leaking little by little into every unknown crevice of my vehicle making god knows how much of a mess.

"Look here's a straw. Now go suck the fun outta someone else's night."

"You're not funny. How much have you drank?"

It's really not like him to drink a lot. More recently, drinking is something I would have done, not him.

"It's not supposed to be funny. Actually, it was funny. I'm fucking hilarious. Only one of many things to improve in my life since our break. Now go ruin someone else's night. Go bother Enzo. And let me tell ya, bother
would
be the correct word for what you do. I bet you annoy the shit outta him. For real, I don't know how he's put up with you for so long. Taking care of you all of the time. Having to calm you down during every single fucking one of your tiresome attacks while reaping none of the benefits. Guy's a motherfucking saint. It's a shame really. How selfish are you for asking so much from him? I mean damn."

I take in a deep breath to calm the buzzing in my nerves. It takes every strand of strength I have left to harness the immense amount of guilt and anger growing frantically and gnawing on my insides.

"Don't. I know what you’re doing, you're trying to push me away by saying stuff you know will hurt, but I'm not falling for it."

"Give it a rest, Bee. You're making yourself look like an ass."

"I am not the one being an ass here, Roman, but I sure as shit am trying my best to point out the fact that you are. Now listen to me for a minute, please. Because I know what you're thinking. Okay?"

"Nope. No fucking clue. Anyway, please continue with your misinformed tirade." And with an over-exaggerated flick of his wrist, he urges me to continue.

"You're afraid. It's not me being in your future you're afraid of—"

"Well, you're right there," he interrupts with a huff.

I ignore it and continue, "It's me not being in it you’re scared of."

Before the last word falls from my lips, he, almost unnoticeably, goes cold for a slight breath as his face pales a shade. I had hit the right chord. Sadly, the moment was fleeting.

I watch the hardness he stormed into my car with return. The grim rigidity violates his charming features once again. The severity in his stare wills me to accept that I've lost.

"It could have been you. I won't fall for you," he mumbles drunkenly to himself.

"
Will you, just once, forget about all of the reasons you think you shouldn't be with me and focus on the one reason you should?"
I'm full-on shouting in his face.

"Just go home. I don't need your attitude right now."

"
My
attitude? My attitude is based on how you've been treating me. You know, I really thought that when you brought Shana to coffee, along with all of the other stuff you were doing, that … that I was overreacting. That I was making up those silly scenarios in my head and doing the infamous Rigbee ‘What ifs’. I really did. But, now I realize I wasn't overreacting at all. No. I was normal reacting. Normal reacting to your obscenely abnormal amount of crap."

"I won't fall with you! Don't you get it?" His yells turn into a whisper. "I'm not going to fall in love with you. And I'm not in love with you now, so just get the word love out of your thick head."

He throws the car door open and steps out. Using one hand, he slams it shut behind him. He leaves without looking back.