Ruin My Life (Mangled Masterpieces #1)

36. Remy

36

Remy

G reen, worn fabric bunches beneath my thighs, my fingertips tracing the darker threads woven through the tweed. I vividly remember the first time I sat on this couch, hugging myself and shaking after getting shuffled in by Ma.

I was fucking terrified.

These days, I run through the door ready to unload. But for some reason, this afternoon I’ve erected a two-way mirror, essentially creating an interrogation room in my mind where my therapist has become the intimidating detective and I’m hiding crimes.

“You’re very quiet today,” Dr. Kat says from the leather chair across from me. Her black pump bobs to an unheard tune as she waits. And waits. And fucking waits.

I’ve wasted almost the entire session on trivial bullshit, carefully avoiding the monster perched on my chest. Massaging the bridge of my nose, I exhale slowly. What comes out isn’t what I intended, especially with only a few minutes left .

“Win was bullied.”

Those three words taste like acid and fill me with unfathomable rage. He’d answered my questions without elaborating. Short responses and feigned indifference. I’d almost punched through the wall after he’d driven off, promising, “ I’m fine now, I was just caught off guard when she showed up. ”

I want to believe him but I don’t; I know what I saw in his haunted grey eyes.

Soul-deep terror.

I run my fingers through my hair, adding, “In high school.”

“Were you unaware?”

Scoffing, “I mean, I knew people teased him sometimes for being different but he never reacted. He always seemed… above it all. Like nothing could touch him. I’ve never seen him react like that .” The rest tumbles out, from the initial encounter with Jessica to the panic attack and vomiting in my parents’ driveway.

“In the past, how did you react to it?”

The loose thread on the couch cushion falls from my fingers.

“I’d get upset, obviously,” I say, my voice trailing off as dots connect. My stomach does a weird lurch. Memories flit through my mind on fast forward while I backtrack for any signs, but it’s all shrouded in the thick fog of my illness. That time of my life was a fever dream I was desperate to wake up from. Revisiting it is like staring at an impressionist painting, willing it to transform into a high-definition photograph.

It’s taken years of consistent work in therapy to examine things I’d buried deep in the recesses of my mind. Many are still smeared swatches of color, fuzzy around the edges with fragments of clarity.

A beep on Dr. Kat’s phone signals the end of our session. She taps the screen to clear it, but before she can ask if I’d like to extend our time, I jump to my feet and grab my backpack. Her intelligent eyes scan my face; she’s attuned to me by now, reading whatever thoughts I’m broadcasting.

“We’ll dive into this next week,” she murmurs. I nod, turning to go. “And Remy?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe revisit the book I gave you on trauma responses.”

I’m composed of reeling thoughts weaving with images and fears as I numbly exit the office. Opening my phone, my stomach sinks at the distinct lack of messages from my obsessive boyfriend.

Boyfriend . Because I’m with Win again.

But he’s been suspiciously absent for two days. I’m trying not revert to my needy ass ways, but it’s fucking difficult. Huffing under my breath, I dial Andrea and climb into my truck.

The Bluetooth connects, her voice blaring through the speakers.

“Please tell me you’re down for a margarita.”

“Lolita’s?”

“See, this is why you’re my favorite person to exist,” she says, making me chuckle as I flick my blinker and angle toward the local beach bar. She rambles for a few minutes about some asshole from our old neighborhood before disconnecting to get on her motorcycle. Of course, I’m the first to arrive.

Opening and closing apps a hundred times and skipping through my playlist does nothing to satiate the nagging beast in my mind.

“Fuck it,” I mutter and open my text thread with Win.

Hi

I’m an idiot.

I groan and Google how to unsend messages when my phone vibrates.

hi to you too sweetheart.

His message allows me to take my first full breath in days.

What you up to?

No typing bubbles pop up despite the read receipt. Any relief at his initial response evaporates. I gnaw my bottom lip, glaring at the screen like it’ll produce some sassy reply.

It doesn’t.

A knock on my window jolts me out of the staring contest with my phone. It almost flies out of my hand as I whip around to find Andrea smirking, drumming her holographic nails on the glass.

Sighing, I tuck my phone in my pocket and shoo her back to exit the vehicle. She crosses her arms, scanning me from top to bottom.

“You’re anxious.”

I shoulder past. “When am I not?”

Her unlaced Dr. Martins stomp behind me up the wooden steps. The worn, shaded deck creaks as we make our way down the bar past regulars and a few scattered tourists dressed in expensive resort-wear. Andrea gains a few curious stares, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She hops onto a stool and rubs her palms together as the familiar bartender approaches.

“Been a while,” our old high school classmate, Freddy, smirks. “We doing the usual?”

“You know it,” Andrea winks, twisting toward me as I slide onto the teal-painted stool next to her. He winks back, leaving to make our drinks.

I check my phone again.

Nothing.

Andrea’s arm presses against mine as she leans over. I instantly turn off the screen and shoot her a glare.

“What’s Pooh Bear doing?”

I slump on the bar.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Whoa, grouchola,” she chuckles. “Weren’t you just texting him?”

With a growl from the back of my throat, I drop my phone on the waxed wood. “Yeah and the bastard is being cagey as hell. It’s driving me insane.”

I realize my mistake the second I catch her stunned expression. “Since when do you admit to caring about him?”

Shit, fuck, balls . I knew I’d have to tell her eventually but I wasn’t ready for her lecture yet. Before she can really sink her claws in, Freddy returns with our drinks. I greedily suck down frozen mango margarita like it’ll rescue me from this inevitable conversation.

“Spill,” she snaps.

“You might want to drink that first.”

Running her tongue ring over her teeth, she squeezes her eyes closed. “Remy, I swear you’re the reason I have chronic heartburn,” she mutters and chugs half her drink. Once she sets it down, I take a deep breath and accept the absurdity that is my life now.

“Win and I… are… together. Publicly this time.”

She immediately grabs her drink and pours the rest down her throat. Choking, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” she coughs. I crunch tiny grains of ice between my molars. She nods a few times, brain whirling as she stares into the scuffed bar top. “Since when?”

“Two days ago.”

The wrath I’ve been bracing for clicks into place. Her sharp nails dig into the meat of her palm.

“You didn’t tell me for two whole days ?”

“I was going to— ”

She steals my drink, finishing it off too while flagging down Freddy for a refill. Lips glistening with sugary mixer, she clears her throat. “Fucking hell.”

“You’re acting like I murdered someone,” I mutter.

She cuts me a loaded look. “Are you sure you two are ready for this?”

“Not at all.”

She slaps her forehead. “Now would be a good time to believe in god again just to pray for you idiots.”

It cracks through my defenses and I laugh. Taking a reasonably sized gulp of her new drink, a mischievous spark dances in her deep brown eyes.

“Who topped who?”

I jab her side, face heating at the unwarranted fantasies flying through my brain.

“We haven’t fucked.”

She squints. “But you’ve fooled around.” I open my mouth. Close it. Blush like a fucking dumbass. A wicked grin forms on her lips. “That good with him, huh?”

Covering my face, I groan, “I’ve never come harder in my life. I’m fucking screwed.”

She bursts into laughter— the raspy kind from deep in her chest. A small hand peels one of mine off my face.

“Oh Rem, what am I gonna do with you?” she sighs, thumb smoothing over my knuckles affectionately. “You guys talk about what happened yet?”

I shake my head. “Not exactly, but he keeps saying I wasn’t the reason he left… and I think I believe him.”

Her head tilts, a lock of red streaked hair tickling her chin. She doesn’t say, “ I told you, ” despite having the right. She’s been telling me so much for years but I always assumed it was to placate me. Now shame creeps into my heated cheeks. I should’ve trusted her not to blow smoke up my ass.

“What convinced you?”

I stir my drink, debating how to answer. Instead, I ask, “Did you know Jessica bullied him?”

Brown eyes round. “A-a lot of people did.” She pauses, fiddling with the little umbrella hanging off the lip of her drink. “This place isn’t known for being the most… welcoming .”

Tequila burns as it rises in the back of my throat. My fingers pinch the soggy napkin under my glass.

“Was I that blind?”

She shifts on her stool. “You were going through shit. It’s not—”

“Don’t say it. I’m tired of everyone passing the blame off me. I was selfish and in denial.” There’s a sharp ache beneath my ribs growing larger by the minute. “They found out, didn't they?”

Eyeing me wearily, she tongues her cheek. “Found out what?”

“That he’s gay.”

She freezes.

It’s enough to tip over the vat of anger welling within.

“Where the hell was I?” I whisper. “I begged and begged to be out with him but he refused because they were bullying him for it, weren't they?” At her silence, my fury changes targets. “You knew and you never brought it to my attention. Ever. Even when I was searching desperately for answers, you didn’t think to tell me that could’ve been a fucking factor?”

“Rem—”

“No, I don’t want to hear how I was too fragile— too sick to handle it. Because guess what? The result would’ve been the same, Drea. My heart was fucking obliterated regardless.”

I shove away from the bar, digging out my wallet when her fingers wrap around my wrist.

“I promised him. ”

It’s my turn to freeze.

Glassy lined eyes plead for me to understand as I battle the urge to cut her to the bone. To unleash this violent creature clawing at my insides. To shred her the way these revelations are shredding me. It’s wrong to want to transfer this pain onto her.

But I want to. I want to so fucking bad.

“I caught them one day… harassing him. He didn’t want you to know and I only agreed when he promised to tell me if it got worse. He never said anything about it again and I… I should’ve told you but I wasn’t sure that was the reason.”

Her explanation does nothing but remind me how oblivious I’ve been. I peel her hand off, pressing some cash into her palm.

“Yeah, you’re right. You should’ve told me.”

She calls after me as I rush from the bar.

The heavy clomp of her boots tails me to my truck.

“Jesus, fuck, Remy, come on,” she pants. “Can we talk about this?”

I rip the door open and slide into the driver’s seat.

“No.”

She stops it from slamming with surprising strength. “I fucked up, ok? I didn’t really put it together until you just—”

“Andrea.”

She clamps her mouth shut. My trembling hands grip the wheel, a singular impulse screaming at me.

“I have to go.”

“But—”

“Look, I get it. Do I like it? Fuck no, I’m pissed. But right now, my boyfriend needs me whether he wants to admit it or not so please, for the love of fuck, let me go to him.”

Awe slackens her features. “Maybe you’re more ready to be with him than I gave you credit for.”

Conflicting emotions tie sailing knots around my windpipe.

She takes a step back. Another.

With a sad smile, she murmurs, “We’ll work this out, Rem. We always do. Go be there for your man.”

My eyes sting and burn. I swallow hard, nodding as I close the door and aim for a house I haven’t visited in six years.