Twenty-seven
I thought losing my parents was the most heartbroken I’d ever feel.
And yet, here I am. A complete fucking wreck.
I can’t eat, can’t sleep. I’m like a walking corpse. I can barely function anymore. Every waking thought is plagued by Asher. Every time I close my eyes, he’s right there. Taunting me. Laughing at me. And trying to forget him is impossible when every single thing reminds me of him. Every time I hear a deep, rumbly laugh or see a flash of blonde hair or get a whiff of expensive cologne, it sends a painful pang through my heart. Even the fucking rain makes me cry now, reminding me of our last night together.
I’m pathetic.
I know I should be trying to move on, telling myself that I dodged a bullet. But, I just… can’t.
I’m torturing myself, going over every single one of our encounters, starting from the day we met up until that night. Trying to work out where things went wrong, when the lies started. Was all that concern about me being hurt fake, just like I thought it was in the beginning? And the stuff with his mom? Was that bullshit, too? Or just a ploy to make me believe him?
The logical part of my brain keeps telling me that I shouldn’t be surprised. That Asher was and always will be an entitled asshole who’ll use anything and anyone for his enjoyment. That all of this was nothing but a game to him. Something him, his dad and my uncle probably spent the last few weeks laughing about.
But the other, much stupider, part of me doesn’t want to believe that at all. Refuses to. I keep looking back at my journal, tracing my fingers over the sketches until the pages crinkle. Sure, they were all done from memory, but the details are right. The heat and affection in his eyes whenever he looked at me. The dimple-popping grin that’d come out whenever I was around. How can you fake that? I know I couldn’t.
He let me have sex with him the other night, for fuck sake. Would you really be willing to do that just to screw somebody over? And he practically told me he loved me. No, he didn’t actually say the words, but he didn’t have to. I could see it, clear as day, written all over his face. Is he really that good of an actor?
I can tell that April’s worried about me, trying to understand why I’ve suddenly gone into such a zombie-like state. She doesn’t push, though. Hasn’t once asked me what’s wrong or what the deal was with that fucked-up dinner. She just squeezes me a little tighter every time we hug, watches me intently before falling asleep. And my uncle, he’s happier than ever. He’s drinking again, but the rage is gone. He’s just smug as fuck all the time, constantly smirking, humor shining in his eyes every time he looks at me. The urge to throw my fist at his jaw is stronger than it has ever been. But honestly, I don’t think I could find the strength. Mentally or physically. I’m just a shell, barely existing.
Dragging myself to school everyday is a hard enough task, and if it weren’t for the promise of accessing my trust fund when I graduate, I don’t think I’d be able to even get out of bed. But even though I’m there, I’m not really there. I try like hell to listen in my classes, to focus, but it’s hard. It’s only been a week and I already know my grades are slipping.
And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, I have to see them everyday. Asher and Peyton. Even when I try to avoid them, I still manage to cross their paths. In the halls between classes, standing at my locker, when I’m leaving at the end of the day. They’re always there. Kissing, holding hands. Rubbing it in my fucking face.
It happens so much that I’ve just come to expect it.
Like right now, I’ve just ducked out of English class a couple of minutes after everyone else, avoiding the rush, and there they are. Standing to the side of the lingering traffic, arms wrapped around each other in an embrace. Peyton’s already clocked me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. My fingers itch to wipe that look off of her face and I clench them into fists at my sides.
I know I should walk away, not give them the satisfaction. Yet, my feet refuse to move. I can’t stop looking at them, can’t stop staring at the spot where his hands grip her waist. Remembering the way it felt when those hands were on my skin, holding on for dear life as I pushed inside him for the first time. Does she shiver when he touches her, the way I did? Does she cherish the finger shaped bruises he leaves on her?
Peyton’s laugh has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. “See something you like, Farrow?”
I grit my teeth, shoulders tense. She’s fucking loving every second of this, knowing that she’s won. That Asher’s finally hers.
And that’s all it really boils down to, isn’t it? He was never really mine, no matter how much I thought he was.
Peyton scoffs and rolls her eyes, rising to her tiptoes to crush her mouth against Asher’s. He doesn’t move for a beat, seeming completely stunned, and then he springs into action, pulling her closer. I can hear her moan all the way from over here.
I stagger back a step, blood rushing in my ears. Jesus, they may as well have just shot me straight in the chest. The pain, it radiates through every inch of my body, rendering me completely immobile for a minute. Somehow though, I manage to make myself move. I haul ass down the hall, hand covering my mouth, and fly into the nearest bathroom, not even caring whether it’s empty or not before collapsing to my knees in the first stall and puking my guts up. Eventually, there’s nothing left to come out - I’ve barely eaten in days - but I can’t stop heaving. Can’t get the image of them kissing out of my mind.
It could be minutes or hours before I finally fall back against the side of the stall. Sweat pours down my face and I wipe my mouth with my sleeve.
Everything hurts.
Everything.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this, keep seeing them everyday and not feel like my soul’s being torn to shreds.
I miss Asher so fucking much. Miss his smell, his smile, his eyes. The way he’d blush sometimes when I caught him off-guard with a filthy comment. The way he’d hold on tight to me like he never wanted to let me go. How am I supposed to get over that? How am I supposed to just accept that it was all a facade?
Answer: I can’t. I just fucking can’t.
It’s the game tonight, his most important game of the season. Not only are they playing their biggest rivals, but the scout he contacted is coming, too. I promised I’d be there, giving him my support.
There’s no reason to go. He’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want or need me in his life anymore. He’s got Peyton to help him through things now, to be the face in the stands that keeps pushing him forward. And why would I even want to go? I don’t owe him a damn thing, not after what he’s done to me. Not going would be like my last big fuck you, my way of showing him that I’m over it.
So, why do I already feel like I’m still gonna be there anyway?
* * *
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say. “You didn’t have to.”
Sienna rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? It feels like I haven’t hung out with you in months. I’m more than happy to be here. And besides, what else is there to do in this town on a Friday night?”
I laugh. “True.”
We walk through the school gates, weaving our way through the crowd. April tugs my hand and drags me over to the food trucks, flashing me her best puppy dog eyes. She already ate before we came, but I cave anyway and buy her and Sienna a hot dog each. Sienna frowns and asks why I’m not having one, but I just shrug it off and feign a full stomach. Honestly, I couldn’t eat right now if I wanted to. I’m too damn on edge being here.
We find empty spots in the bleachers and make ourselves comfortable. It’s already filling up pretty quickly, over half the town here to show their support. I spot Asher’s dad on the sidelines, pacing as he holds his phone to his ear. He’s wearing a suit and tie, no doubt coming here straight from the office. Peyton’s there too, sitting on the bench in her tiny cheerleading uniform with the rest of her squad. A couple of minutes later, an official-looking guy sporting Golden Bears memorabilia wanders over, shaking hands with Coach Anderson.
The scout’s here.
I swallow hard, shift in my seat. And when that’s not enough, I wipe my clammy hands down my pant legs.
Sienna nudges me, watching me carefully. “What’s with all the fidgeting? Nervous about the game?”
“Something like that.”
I’m not sure what’s freaking me out more, though. The fact that I’m about to see Asher again and just by seeing my face in the crowd, he’ll know I still care. Or that this is such a big fucking night for him and I’m praying that he doesn’t screw it up. Either way, I’m just a big mess of nerves, physically unable to keep still.
And it only gets worse when the Leighton Bay players file out onto the field for warm-ups. I scan the sea of blue and red, searching for that familiar jersey, but come up empty on every attempt. He’s not there. Worry sits in my gut like a lead weight. Asher should be out there. He’s the captain, he’s the one the entire team looks up to. Why would he not be warming up with them?
My phone vibrates and I yank it out of my pocket so fast that it almost goes flying into the air. Sienna frowns at me but I ignore her, focusing on the screen instead.
My breath catches when I see Asher’s name.
It’s just two words and a pin drop of his location.
Need you.
This fiery, bone-deep instinct to protect him at all costs rises within me and I zoom in on the map with shaking fingers, quickly realizing he’s still in the locker room. Already, I’m on my feet and edging toward the stairs.
“I need the bathroom. Do you mind watching April?”
Sienna sighs, but I can tell that beneath her irritated exterior, she’s enjoying this. Seeing me flustered, the way I make her my unintentional babysitter every time I’m with her. God, I need to buy her a big, fat thank you present as soon as I start working again. “Of course not. Go.”
Without hesitating, I race down the steps, heart in my throat as I run as fast as I can to the locker room.