Long After (Sometimes Never) (7 page)

12

Chase

Present

There’s a hand on my head.

Warm.

Firm.

It guides me into the back of the police cruiser.

I sit.

Stare out the window, but I don’t really see anything.

There’s talking. Crackling on the radio.

Silence.

More talking.

It’s all just noise.

Just background sounds I don’t hear. Don’t care to hear.

I feel the car shift. A door closes.

We move, I know, because I start to get dizzy as cars and trees become colors and blurs.

I don’t close my eyes.

But I don’t see.

We stop several times.

There’s more talking.

I think I catch my name.

I don’t know if someone is talking to me or about me.

I don’t care.

The next time we stop, my door is opened.

I step out. I don’t know where.

I don’t ask. I just let them guide me.

I’m sitting in a chair that’s bolted to the ground.

I wonder why anyone would need to bolt a chair to the floor.

Do people really steal chairs that often it makes this a necessity?  

They cuff my wrist to the chair.

Now it makes more sense.

They aren’t worried about theft.

They’re worried about me getting away.

My hands are caked in blood.

Some is mine. Most is Loden’s.

My clothes are stiff with more of Loden’s blood, dried to a deep brown.

I want it off.

They won’t let me change.

They won’t let me wash my hands.

They took pictures.

Photos of my blood-
soiled clothes.

My hands.

Documented the few marks on my neck and face.

I don’t have much to show. Loden barely had time to react when I jumped on him.

I close my eyes, refusing to remember until I have to.

I can’t relive it over and over again.

I feel like a monster because I can’t summon an ounce of remorse.

None.

Zero.

I use my one call on my dad.

He promises he’s on his way.

He says something else, too. Something about a lawyer.

I know that’s not something we can afford.

The state’s supposed to appoint me one. I remember the cop telling me that when he read me my Miranda rights.

I wonder why they’re called Miranda rights.

I never thought about
it before.

Never needed to.

I want to know what’s going on with Annie.

Where is she?

Is she okay?

They won’t tell me.

They won’t tell me anything.

All they see when they look at me is a tatted up criminal.

A murderer.

I guess that’s what I am. So it’s a fair assumption.

Maybe if I were willing to talk to them, tell them what happened, then they’d reciprocate, tell me about Annie.

But I don’t talk about it.

Not yet.

I don’t think I can claim self-defense since my life was never in danger.

After the first few hits, when Loden went still, I could have stopped.

I should have stopped.

But I didn’t. I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

All I could think about was him buying his way out of trouble and getting away with it.

There’s more talking.

More noise.

Nobody is really saying anything.

Shit
.

I want to know what the hell is happening.

Where is Annie?

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

“You’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch,” someone tells me.

I don’t know who he is.

I don’t know why he’s talking to me.

He takes a sip from his coffee cup before setting it on the corner of a desk. It’s piled high with manila folders.

The desk. Not the coffee.

“Your guy didn’t die.”

I look at him blankly.

“He’s still unconscious. It’ll be
touch and go until he wakes up, but he has a heartbeat. That’s all that matters, kid.”

I don’t reply.

I don’t know how I feel about that.

I’m glad I’m not a murderer, but…

Well, no, there is no but.

I’m glad I’m not a murder
er.

It
’s just now he’ll live to do this again.

God
.

Fuck
.

He can do it again.

He can hurt somebody again.

“That reduces your charges,” he adds.

I nod.

I get it.

I know I should be relieved.

This weight on my shoulders should lighten a little.

The pain in my chest should ease.

But none of that happens.

The guy settles in the chair beside me, resting his ankle on his knee.

I stare at my
own knee. It bounces up and down.

I wish my dad would get here.

I hate sitting here alone.

Not knowing what’s happening.

I need someone to check into Annie for me.

That’s all I need.

“You want to talk to me? Tell me what happened tonight?”

I shake my head.

Concentrate hard on my knee.

He sighs. Leans over to retrieve his mug. Takes a long drink.

He doesn’t say anything else.

We sit in silence as the time passes.

The large, overhead clock ticking each second away. I wish it were quiet.

The more I try to block it, the more flashes I get.

I don’t know why the ticking of a clock makes me think of it.

Images of Loden on top of Annie.

Annie’s lips blue and trembling.

And her eyes.

God, her eyes
.

I’ve never seen fear like that in my life.

I don’t want to see it ever again.

How can a person do that to another human being?

How can they look them in the eyes and be so merciless?

I chuckle, gaining the guy’s attention once again.

I probably look insane to him, laughing at nothing while I sit here.

Am I the pot or the kettle in this scenario?

I showed no mercy for Loden.

Not even a little.

None at all.

What does that make me?

The monster I think I am?

Or am I something else?

Something worse?

I sure as shit don’t know the answer.

I wish someone would tell me.

You Got Time

Annie

Nineteen Months Before

I’ve done it again.

I made him angry.

I’ve overstepped some unknown boundary, trailed past some invisible line, and now Loden’s fingers dig into my hips. I gasp from the unexpected sharp bite of his nails. I feel the blood drain from my face as his eyes hold me, cold and irate.

“Why do you keep doing this?” His voice is low, quiet, but accusing. “You make me crazy. Why do you keep flirting with my friends?”

“I didn’t—”

“Stop,” he growls. His fingers flex, squeezing harder. I want to pull away, shove him back, but I hold myself immovable. Every muscle in my body is rigid, unsure what he’ll say next. What he’ll do.

“The swim team is off limits.” He glowers at me, the skin around his eyes tight and I think he’s restraining himself. “Do you understand me?”

I don’t reply, partially because I assume the question is rhetorical, and partially because, no, I don’t understand him. Off limits?

He presses into me, his whole body against mine, pinning me to the wall. “Answer. Me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. One hand climbs my body, caressing across my throat, and continuing to thread into my hair. His hold is too tight, stinging. “You are not allowed to flirt with anybody on the swim team. Do you know how it makes me look when you pull this shit?”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

I was only talking to one of his teammates—this really sweet guy, Vince. He’s always been nice to me and I consider him a friend. He walked past me on his way to the locker room and noticed I was working on the homework assignment from our shared class. He told me he was having a hard time with it, so I offered to help him by walking him through some of the problems.

Vince was appreciative. He
took a seat beside me and we discussed the homework until he had a better understanding. He thanked me with a smile that I returned—because he’s my friend. That’s it. This is nothing like what happened with Chase. I was careful to keep my eyes on Vince’s face. We stayed on topic the entire ten minutes it took for him to get it down.

But I knew as soon as he walked away and I turned back to the pool I was in trouble. Loden’s gaze was locked on me, dark with fury. He dove underwater and swam several more laps, l
etting the natatorium clear out before he approached me.

And now, here I am, trapped against the painted tiled walls, his hot breath in my face.

“I saw you,” he seethes. “You know how that makes me feel.” His eyes narrow, brows puckered.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not because I did anything wrong, but because I know it’s what he wants to hear.

Loden smiles, placated, and releases me. He dips his head, running his tongue up my throat. He skims his nose along my jaw and then he’s kissing me, rough and urgent.

I hear a door open and I use that moment to pull away from him. A couple
of guys from his team nod at us as they pass. Loden waits until they’re gone before he speaks again. “You have to stop doing this to me. I don’t like feeling like this.”

Neither do I
.

I nod stiffly.

He sighs, taking my hand, and leading me toward the locker room. “I don’t know how I’m going to last the summer away from you. I’m going to go crazy thinking about you here by yourself.” His eyes blaze as some thought—probably me flirting with his entire team—flashes through his mind. His hand squeezes mine.

I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.

~*~

When Loden called me to tell me he made it home safely, I told him I needed a break. Time to think. Just while he’s gone for the summer.

He wasn’t happy—in fact, he was downright pissed. More so because there was nothing he could do about it, which is exactly why I chose that moment. He had an early flight the next morning with his parents—vacationing with family on the other side of the country where he’ll be for the next three months.

I know I didn’t handle the situation in the best way possible, but I need time to think. I know Loden can give me everything I want out of life. I see such a bright and promising future, but his jealousy is smothering.

It’s comforting to know he cares so deeply for me. It is. And maybe that’s why I’m having a hard time with it. Nobody’s ever cared enough to be jealous. As nice as it is to know he feels so strongly, his physical reaction scares me. He’s never really hurt me, but he hovers this very fine line. Maybe this is the reason I shot down all his requests to have sex, insisting we take it slow. Something about Loden is unnerving.

I just need some time.

Maybe I’m overreacting.

I don’t know.

The first thing I do on the first day of my new freedom is go see Chase. Park and Guy have both moved out of the dorms and it’s so strange to be coming here without them. I knock and for some reason, my stomach churns nervously as I wait.

I shake my head. I know exactly why I’m nervous. I’ve barely spoken to him in the past six
months. Loden pretty much forbade me, and I understood his concern, so I complied, keeping my distance.

But Loden’s not here.

The door opens and a guy—Chris, I think—holds it wide.

“Is Chase here?” I ask as I slide past him.

“In his room,” he says. I thank him and hurry to Chase’s bedroom before I change my mind.

“He isn’t going to hear you over his music,” Chris calls as I raise my hand to knock. My brows furrow in confusion. I don’t hear any music. Ch
ris gestures to his ears. “Headphones. Just go in. He’s alone.”

I turn back to the door and stare at it, unsure. Maybe I should just leave. It’s been so long…But I kind of miss him. I take a breath, holding it as I turn the handle slowly with resolve
, and peek into his dimly lit room.

He’s stretched out on his bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his feet bare.
One arm is resting under his head, pulling his shirt up a few inches onto his tight stomach where his bass is perched, the fingers of his other hand plucking smoothly along the strings. My eyes trail over his form, stopping finally on his face. He’s looking at me, his gaze glued to my face, his lips parted in surprise.

I shut the door behind me a
nd he sits up, pushing the headphones onto his neck, and propping the bass against his nightstand.

“Hey?”
He says it unsure, like he’s asking a question.

“Hi.”

His eyebrows raise slightly, an unspoken question. He’s wondering why I’m here.

I clear my throat softly. “I was in the neighborhood,” I say lightly.

He smirks at me, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You’re always in the neighborhood.”

I tug my iPod out of my pocket and climb onto the end of his bed. This is the only thing I can think of that will make sense to Chase. Music. If anything, it’ll distract him. I don’t know why I’m here, other than I just want to be. I push one bud into my ear, the cord trailing between us as I hand him the iPod.

“Pick one of your shitty songs and explain to me why the hell you like this music.”

He grins and I relax, leaning back against the wall as he chooses a song.