The Story of Us (7 page)

“Don’t judge me but… I’ve had the same
best friend for, like, eight years,” I say, estimating the time
I’ve been best friends with Hailey.

Some drink and some don’t. It wasn’t a
good one, but I can’t think of anything else. They move onto the
next person, but I can’t focus. I can’t figure out why my hands are
so cold. Why won’t they warm up? They’re so cold, I feel like
they’re going to fall off. Why are my hands the only thing cold on
my whole body? Why are they cold if I’m not even outside? I keep
rubbing them on whatever I’m holding, but they don’t warm up at
all. That’s when I realize I’m holding a cold vodka bottle. I
vaguely remember someone handing it to me, but I thought I put it
down and picked my red cup back up when I needed to drink.
Evidently not. I probably should have stopped drinking when I
realized I had a good buzz on, before even joining this
circle.

Suddenly the music that’s been playing
gets louder and I realize my favorite song, “Friday Night” by Lady
Antebellum, is playing. I’m thankful to whoever turned it up
because it instantly puts me in a better mood. I throw my hands up
in the air and start shouting the words. I hear people joining in,
shouting the words around me, both in the circle and out. And I
feel good, the best I’ve felt all night, letting the music heal my
soul and revive life into me. I go to stand up so I can dance but I
almost fall right back down. I feel someone catch me from behind
but instead of being grateful, it irritates me beyond belief. I
just want to dance to one of my favorite songs and I feel like I’m
being held back. I try to brush whoever it is off, but the arms
holding me don’t give way. I don’t want to lose this feeling of
happiness, so I try to stand freely again, but my legs feel like
Jell-O. Every time I think I can stand, it feels like something is
pushing me right back down.

“There’s too much gravity in here,” I
grumble to myself in irritation.

I hear someone laugh from behind me
and I start to get angrier until I see that it’s Craig. I don’t
even question how he found me out here. I just relax into him, all
irritation suddenly gone. I let him hold me, partly because it
feels good and partly because I don’t think I could stand
otherwise.

“Easy princess,” he whispers softly
into my ear. When I turn around to look at him, his eyes are full
of concern.

“I love this song,” I whine,” I just
want to dance. Let’s dance,” I plead.

“Okay.” he agrees with a soft
smile.

I try to sway my hips but I just can’t
keep my balance. I feel Craig’s hands tightly holding my waist,
keeping me from falling. I’m probably the world’s worst dancer
right now, but I don’t care. I can feel the vibrations of my
favorite song, along with the alcohol in my system. And just like
that, all my inhibitions vanish.

“I just want to have fun,” I yell to
him over the music. “Like really have fun. I want to be crazy for
once. Do something crazy, ya know?”

He smiles back at me, still holding my
waist. His eyes are sparkling, watching me so intently. Why don’t I
like him? He’s a sweetheart. My knight in shining armor. I reach my
arms up and lean in to kiss him. Before I can get too close though,
he grabs my face and holds it firmly in place.

“Don’t,” he orders sternly, his eyes
now darker. Suddenly he looks mad, or maybe just repulsed by the
possibility of me kissing him.

Rejection washes through me. I feel it
slowly ripple its way through my chest and I feel like I might cry
but I try my hardest to hide it as I turn away.

He grabs my arm. “C’mon,” he says, his
voice pleading, almost begging me not to be upset.

Suddenly, I remember him
slowly pressing his lips down on Tiffany’s and I remember why he
is
not
my knight
in shining armor. I remember exactly what kind of guy he is and why
I would never want to be with him. What was I thinking? A guy like
Craig Morgan is exactly the type of guy I avoid at all costs. The
last thing I want to do is fall for someone who will stomp on my
heart with a million different dances and not think twice about
leaving it behind as he moves onto someone else’s, ready to do the
cha-cha all over again.

I yank my arm free and turn to walk
away. He doesn’t stop me. Even though I wanted to walk away from
him, it still hurts that he doesn’t care to follow. I can, however,
hear Mark yelling to me as I leave, but I don’t care. I’m done with
the game. I stumble my way through the crowds, looking for Hailey.
I know I can’t keep walking for much longer. I’m bumping into
people and walls, grabbing onto anything I can in order to keep my
balance. I’m pissed, so you’d think I’d be sober right now. But I’m
already too far gone to sober up that easily.

As I pass through the living room into
the kitchen, I see my feet leave the floor. At first I think I’ve
fallen, but then I realize someone is carrying me. I can’t make out
who it is but I know I’m not being carried in a nice way. I’m not
being cradled like a baby; embraced and taken care of. Instead, I’m
thrown over someone’s shoulder and I can only see the back of them.
That’s the last thing I remember.

I wake up comfortable, although
slightly nauseous, slowly opening my eyes and trying to make sense
of my surroundings. I see a poster that doesn’t look familiar at
all. It has a skull and weird patterns and the words, “Don’t Say
So” on it. A band? A logo? I don’t know. I stretch in the bed I’m
in and I realize I’m way too comfortable to be in my tight jeans.
I’m praying for a pink comforter; something that tells me that a
girl put these sweats on me, but when I look down I see blue and
grey plaid. That’s when I start to panic. I jump out of bed, try to
ignore the spinning sensation from moving too fast, and look myself
over. I still have my bra and tank top on that I wore last night,
but the sweat pants aren’t mine. They’re huge, so most likely a
guy’s. What did I do? What happened last night? I have a pounding
headache so I know I drank too much. But how did I manage to drink
so much that I can’t even remember whose room I’m in?

Just as I’m thinking that, a guy walks
in. I have no idea who he is. My heart starts beating out of my
chest. He’s extremely thin, with piercings all over his face and
tattoos all over his skin. I don’t remember the last time I was
this scared. He nods in my direction and keeps walking. I’m frozen
in place. I can’t even open my mouth to ask questions. He grabs a
wallet off of the other bed in the room and walks right back out. I
let the breath out that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.
Then the door opens again and a guy walks in with only a towel on.
Not just any guy – Craig. He runs another towel through his wet
hair as I stare in disbelief.

When he looks up, his eyes widen in
surprise. “Oh, Princess. You’re awake.”

“What the hell?” I whisper.

He approaches me like he would a
cornered dog, hands held up and everything. “I know this looks
bad,” he starts, “but Hailey changed you into sweats. I just came
from the showers because I thought you’d still be sleeping. You had
a lot to drink last night.” When I don’t respond, he asks, “Did
Erik wake you up?” He looks at me, waiting for an answer, but I
still don’t respond. My head is spinning trying to take it all in.
I can tell my hesitation worries him by the way his eyebrows
crease. “Are you alright?” He finally asks.

I let a deep breath go.
“I’m actually relieved,” I whisper, my voice shaking. I don’t know
why I’m about to cry. I mean, I guess I know why. I was thinking
the worst case scenario. Stranger’s room, different pants. I know
why I’m shaken up, but I don’t
want
to cry. I’m not that weak girl who cries. I’m mad
at myself for even feeling like I might cry, which actually makes
me cry because as ironic as it is, I cry when I’m mad.

“Come here,” he says softly, beckoning
me over.

Of course I don’t, but he walks over
to me and I can’t keep it together anymore. I fall into his arms
and burst into tears, feeling every bit like the baby that I am.
He’s naked from the waist up and he’s dripping wet, but I don’t
care. It’s not uncomfortable at all. It’s not sexual, just
comforting. And I feel anything but sexy right now, as I’m bawling
my eyes out and reeking of alcohol from last night. I was terrified
and now I’m relieved, but I’m also ashamed and feeling two feet
tall. He brushes my hair with his fingers and shushes me quietly.
It makes me feel even more like a baby, so I gently but
deliberately push him away. He reluctantly releases me and I
immediately turn around to hide my day-old mascara-smeared face. I
wipe my cheeks and under my eyes before I turn back.

“What happened?” I ask him in a
cracked voice.

“Nothing, I swear,” he insists
adamantly.

“I mean, last night. The whole night.
I can’t remember,” I admit. I turn back around to face him and I’m
sure the shame is written all over my face.

He nods his head in understanding.
“Nothing happened. You just drank too much. I found Hailey and Drew
and we all walked here because my dorm was the closest.” He laughs
without humor, “You were in bad shape, Princess. You couldn’t even
walk. So when we got here, I put you in my bed, and Hailey changed
you out of your jeans and into a pair of my sweats. Drew and I left
the room for that, of course.” He smirks at that last part, looking
almost embarrassed. “Hailey argued that she wanted to stay here
with you but I figured there was no need. You were out for the
night. Completely passed out. Might as well give her and Drew the
room to themselves.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I slept on
the floor, by the way. You’re not that attractive when you’re
unconscious.” I know he’s trying to lighten the mood, so I
smile.

“I guess I should thank you
then.’

“I guess you should,” he says with
raised eyebrows, waiting for me to actually say it.

“Okay,” I oblige, rolling my eyes,
“thank you.” Then I add more sincerely, “Really, I mean it. When I
woke up in this room and your… roommate?... walked in, I panicked.
Last night could have been really bad. I don’t even remember half
of it. Anything could have happened.” I pause, and then add with a
smirk, “For once, I’m glad you were there.”

He smiles back. “So, you said you
remember half of the night?”

“Yeah, bits and pieces of the
beginning. How did I get so drunk? I don’t even drink. I mean,
barely ever.”

“Do you remember when you first saw me
last night?” he questions seriously, his usual smirk
gone.

I know what he’s getting at. And I do
remember. I remember thinking he was upset. And I reached out to
him. I remember hugging him and having a moment with him. But I’m
not sure I want to admit that to him. “Umm…”

“C’mon, princess. You remember,” he
says softly.

“I thought you were going to stop
calling me princess.” I attempt to change the subject.

He blows it off like I didn’t say
anything at all. “You remember,” he insists.

“Okay, yes. I remember,” I reluctantly
admit.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Stop,” he demands. “Look
at me. You know what I’m asking.
Why
?”

Suddenly, I’m having a hard time
looking at him when he’s only wrapped in a towel from the waist
down and dripping water. I just can’t. And yet, I can’t help
myself. For the first time, I notice a tattoo on his bicep. It’s
not a huge one that covers his whole upper arm, like a lot of guys
have. It only takes up one spot on his upper shoulder. I try to
make out what it is, but all I can see is that the whole of it is a
puzzle piece. There’s a lot of intricacies inside it that I can’t
make out without staring. I look away, for fear of being caught and
try to ignore the rest of him by looking only into his eyes, but
that doesn’t help much either. His eyes are soft, begging for me to
answer. I sigh loudly, “I thought you were upset. I thought you
needed comfort, I guess. It was stupid and I had a buzz and I
shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he insists. “How did
you know I was upset?”

“Were you?”

He shrugs his shoulder like it’s no
big deal, and I can tell that’s as close to a ‘yes’ as I’m going to
get. So I wasn’t imagining it.

“Why?” I ask.

“Do you really care?”

I think about that question for a
moment. As much as I’d like to say no, I can’t. “Yes.”

His eyes turn molten at my admission.
I can tell he wants to open up to me. But then his expression
changes and his eyes cloud over. “Just some family stuff. Nothing
too important. Just a bad day,” he answers, being as vague as
possible.

I can’t hide my disappointment. But I
know I shouldn’t be surprised. Did I really think Craig Morgan was
going to open up to me? Has he ever opened up to anyone before?
He’s the typical bad boy type. He lets you see inside him just
enough for you to think there’s something worthy under his rough
exterior. Then he shuts you down and goes back to being as cold as
ice.

“Okay…Well, I’m sorry for making your
night worse,” I say. “I’m sure babysitting wasn’t in your
plans.”