Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
avery
Dancing With Your Ghost – Sasha Alex Sloan
Iwake with a start, my head pounding as I sit up and try to get my bearings.
The haze of last night still fogs my mind as I sit and stare at the crumpled blanket on the floor. A flash of Kane standing over me taking off my makeup makes me clutch my stomach, the mixture of butterflies and alcohol churning.
I glance over at my nightstand to check for my phone and spot a Gatorade bottle I don’t remember grabbing, with a note tucked underneath. I reach for the ripped notebook paper, immediately recognizing the slanted handwriting that’s almost too messy to read.
Good morning, pretty girl,
Drink this and take the medicine. I got you some breakfast and fixed the dishwasher, so I won’t be coming by later. Feel better.
K
Something is scratched out, but I can’t read it.
My heart clenches as I read the messy pretty girl, that one simple phrase as familiar to me as the back of my hand.
A small smile curls on my face. I read the note two more times before opening my top drawer, where a couple of other—recently reread—notes from Kane rest. I place it on top of the others and close the drawer.
I stare at the wall, trying to recall everything that happened last night.
I remember going to The Grunge—after an hour of Morgan insisting and basically dragging me to the door, dressed or not—and Kane delivering drinks, and meeting the blonde who is not his girlfriend. Everything after that is blank.
Fuck, I drank way too much. I was tired of feeling, tired of pining and thinking, and I just wanted a break from the constant noise inside my head.
The thoughts all come at me way too fast. The doubt that’s ever-present.
I almost drown in self-pity of never feeling enough for anyone.
How my parents have always put everything before me, the way being their child was never enough for them to slow down and really see me.
How complicated and messy things are with Kane.
I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts before they ruin my day before I even have a chance to get out of bed.
I take the drink and medicine Kane left for me on the bedside table, swallowing it down before slinking back under the covers.
He was sweet last night. But that has never been Kane’s problem. He can also go quiet, retreating so deep in his head that I can’t reach him. The weeks leading up to the breakup, I was lucky to get a few full sentences from him. He was always withdrawing from me or brushing me off.
I tried to reason with myself that he was just tired or overworked, picking up random bar shifts when he could.
We still had sex, he still cooked for me, still did the little things such as reach for me on nights out and during our shows together.
But the physical connection could only sustain us so long, and I craved the emotional connection I always valued with him.
I felt that the more he pulled away, the more I latched on, fighting for the us that was still there.
Tears start to well in my eyes, and I furiously wipe them away, sitting up and choking them down before the grief decides to dig its claws into me again.
How could he let me walk out of his life without a fight, but come to me last night as my knight in shining armor, whisking me away with so much care?
For the first few weeks, I let the grief overtake me, finding a strange comfort in the numbness.
I lost not only my boyfriend but my best friend, the person I spent the past four years intertwining my life with.
The person I gave my heart to before I even realized I had one, that organ I kept tightly locked in my chest for so long.
I willingly handed it over to him on a silver platter that autumn day when we were hidden among the leaves.
With the kiss that changed my whole life and tilted my world on its axis.
I miss the soft smiles he would share with only me.
The way he’d look at me first when he found something funny, or when something was happening that we knew we would debrief later.
The way he would always look for me in a crowded room, and the way a smile would spread across his face when he finally spotted me—the one reserved just for me.
Kane has always been hard to the world, walking around with a tough exterior, but he would soften for me. And I loved being the only one who could bring that out of him.
It was as if I gave him somewhere he was safe to be himself.
I miss his deep voice when he would whisper filthy things in my ear at the worst times and walk away with a chuckle, knowing he was leaving me flustered and thinking of him.
His actions the night we broke up don’t make sense when I think about last night.
He slept here all night just to make sure I didn’t get sick again.
He turned back into my Kane. The man I so desperately fell head over heels for, with no way of stopping myself.
But where was he months before that and the months since?
It seemed so effortless for him to let me walk away. I can’t conceptualize how we got here.
I startle slightly when I hear Morgan banging around on the other side of the wall our beds share.
Which can be unfortunate at times, given that Morgan is a night owl and comes and goes at all hours of the night and day.
But I appreciate the grounding feeling that hits my chest when I hear her, knowing I’m not alone if I don’t want to be.
I know now I only have a few minutes of peace before she decides to check on me after the events of last night. I’m still a little upset with her that I ended up in Kane’s arms, but also relieved by how right it felt to leave with him, knowing I was safe wrapped in the quiet comfort of his truck.
I blow out a big breath, then pull myself up and into the bathroom.
Refusing to see what a mess I appear this morning, I adjust the dial to the shower, letting the mirror fog up and obscure me from view.
I click on my more upbeat breakup playlist, sliding myself into the shower.
The banging on my door begins just as I begin lathering my body, and before I have a chance to say anything, it crashes open.
Why Morgan even bothers to knock when she never waits for a response, I will never know.
The lack of boundaries between us could shock any normal person, but we’re more like sisters than friends—there’s very few things we don’t share.
Besides the unfortunate events of my breakup.
A moment later, the shower curtain is yanked back, and Morgan is staring at me, hands on her hips.
“It’s cold,” I say, trying to grab the curtain to close it, but she holds on to with a death grip. I step back under the stream, rinsing off the soap and any lingering tears, then reach over and shut the water off before turning back to Morgan.
“Are you going to say whatever you came in here for, or are you just here for a show? Because the cover fee just went up to twenty dollars,” I joke, grabbing a fluffy pink towel from the rod and drying myself off.
“Our dishwasher is fixed,” she starts, looking at me as if I’m keeping some massive secret from her. She stands with her arms crossed over her chest as she waits for me to respond, but I ignore her, wrapping the towel around myself.
“Kane walked you out of the bar last night. Well, whisked you away, more like it. Your very own broody bodyguard. Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” she muses, a slight tilt in her lips.
“I know, I was the one he whisked away, remember? Which now that I think about it, you’re the one who got him involved in the first place, so what is this interrogation about?” I slowly begin getting dressed, trying to stop the spinning of my hangover from making me sick.
“Would you like to share with the class?” Morgan implores, leaning against the counter next to me as I do my skincare, trying to make myself look like I didn’t drink my body weight in liquor last night.
I finish up, continuing to ignore Morgan and how annoyingly perky she seems this morning. She’s dressed in an all-pink tracksuit, her face fresh and her blonde hair pulled back into an effortlessly perfect bun. Clearly, I was the only one who decided to test the limits last night.
I walk out of my room and into the kitchen, Morgan trailing behind me. I start to dig into our bare fridge, making a note to go to the grocery store at some point. I can’t keep living on takeout and the granola bars I find in my purse.
I grab my leftover dinner from last night and go to put it in the microwave, only to notice the glass plate is missing. Confusion runs through me, and I turn to Morgan, who continues to wait for me to fill her in on what happened after the bar last night.
“Where the fuck is the plate?”
“What plate?” Her brows furrow as she moves to stand next to me. “Oh, the microwave plate?”
“No, Morgan. The other plate. Of course, that one.” I place my bowl on the stovetop and glance in the sink, wondering if one of us put it there to be washed.
“Okay, check yourself, grouchy. Where else could it be?” She seems just as confused as me.
I open the dishwasher to see if it’s inside, but it’s not there either. “Well, it’s not like a plate just gets up and walks away.”
Was I so drunk last night I don’t remember moving it?
Did I try to make something to eat?
I go back into my less-than-put-together room, checking the dresser and various piles of clothes on the floor for the plate—and deciding I really need to get my shit together before my shifts this weekend.
I’ve let the laundry pile up, empty takeout containers and cups littering every surface, and I wince when I realize Kane saw all of it—how I’ve barely been surviving the past few weeks.
Still not finding the plate, I abandon my dirty room as my stomach growls again. Frustration works its way out of me in a low growl as I stalk back the short distance to the kitchen.