56. Be More #3
at the tail end of the feeling.
Andrew’s right.
If tonight didn't happen—if Raymond didn't turn him into staff in front of my entire label, if Teddy didn't appear out of thin air—I never would’ve called him my boyfriend.
The word wasn’t a confession.
It was a tourniquet.
A way to stop the bleeding.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
My sinuses burn with the pre-cry sting.
Then my feet are carrying me to the bathroom, thighs clenching on the warmth pooling between them.
I walk faster,
rounding the corner into the hall—
crashing right into Raymond.
His drink splashes,
I stumble back,
and his hand catches my waist.
“Careful, baby. You almost made me spill,” he says, steadying me, using his body as a wall. His breath hits me wet with booze, and the sour scent crawls into me, prepared to haunt me for the next three days. “Rough night?”
I yank free.
“Don’t,” I say, stepping out of his hold.
But when I try to go around him,
he sidesteps back in front of me.
“Raymond, please—”
“Please what?”
I scan the hall, looking over my shoulder, then a whisper pushes through my teeth. “You’ve done enough, okay?”
Cruel, dark humor pools in his eyes, a terrifyingly wolfish smile following behind it. “Yeah? Care to elaborate?”
I scan his vile face, my skin hot and steaming. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He cocks his head.
“What exactly do you think I did?”
It takes godlike effort not to smack the smug off his face. “What you pulled tonight? You orchestrated this whole staffing problem just to get him to work, and then you brought Teddy here—”
“Who? The bartender?”
He raises his drink to his lips.
“Jesus, you’re delusional.”
“You did it all to humiliate him.”
His glass lowers without the sip.
“Allison. Listen to yourself. You’re talkin’ as if I’d spend a second of my time fuckin’ up your life, when you’re already doin’ a grand job of it yourself.” He leans closer. “How the hell would I know you’d bring the help to Christmas—”
My palm strikes the meat of his cheek,
an ugly echo in the hall.
The force of it vibrates up my arm
and jerks his chin sideways,
splitting the smile from his face.
For a second, everything stops.
Raymond’s head stays turned, his face rigid, as a fierce, bright handprint reddens on his cheek.
“You’re losing it,” I grind out.
“You’re losing it ‘cause of one reason,
“and one reason only…”
My head dips to catch his eyes.
“You’re threatened by him.”
Raymond rights himself,
adjusting his jacket,
slicking back his hair
with poisoned patience.
Then he steps in close. “You always did mistake defiance for strength.”
“And you always confused control for care,” I snap back.
He lets out a menacing laugh.
“Is that it?
“You think this man cares about you?”
Yes, my heart screams for me.
“You’ll go nowhere near him,” I bite out to control the shake in my voice. “Not ever again.”
His brows shoot up, pulling the strings at the corners of his mouth.
“Wow. That's a first.
“Defending a fuckin' Boy.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do, baby.” Another chuckle slips out under his tongue, and he chokes it by draining the rest of his drink. “That’s what makes it sad.”
“What’s sad is you’re a fraud, Raymond. Always have been.
Putting on a suit you could’ve never afforded, stepping into a label you never built, sitting in a chair that was never yours, spending money you never earned.
Could never make a name for yourself, so you had to crawl into someone else’s, huh? ”
But Raymond keeps chuckling here, chuckling there. “Jesus. Is the only way to shut you up to eat you out?”
My blood turns into barbed wire, dragging me back through every second of that moment.
I go to speak,
but my throat feels thick and swollen.
I swallow.
“That’s never happening again either.”
I shake my head.
“You’ll never touch me again.”
Raymond winks. “‘Til next time, right?”
“No,” I whisper, then louder,
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Sure there will,” he raises his glass. “When your Boys don’t give it to you good enough. When you get bored. When you’re tryin’ to resist for as long as you can to make it more intense, and you need a fuckin’ man…”
He steps closer, and I feel his fingers trail the inside of my thighs. “That’s how my mouth ended up right here last week,” he spits, and I jump back, his hand falling to his side. “Because you’re an addict, Allison. And addicts always reach for more.”
His looks over my shoulder,
and he lifts his chin
with a snap of his fingers.
“Bartender, tell me I’m wrong.”
I freeze.
Horror slams into me.
Then I can’t breathe.
And my stomach drops,
drops,
and I can’t turn fast enough.
Andrew’s only five feet behind me,
close enough to hear everything,
standing numb, eyes going out of focus.
As if his mind already walked away
before the rest of his body knew how.
The seconds that follow are cruel,
delivering his shock in slow motion.
Raymond’s words keep piercing him,
blow after blow,
breaking apart inside him,
finding every weak spot he has for me,
turning them into blocks of ice.
Then he blinks,
takes one step back,
turns away.
And then time catches up as he leaves,
ditching our coats on a nearby table.
He rounds the corner.
But I'm frozen here,
not moving.
Like every other time.
My heart slaps me across the face—
Feel that?
That’s what not-going-after-him feels like.
And she keeps striking me raw,
again and again
and again
until—
my feet,
they’re moving.
“Andrew…” I whisper,
rounding the corner after him.
He’s exiting through the back room,
through the service entrance.
I take off my shoes to keep up.
Above his head,
the EXIT sign glows red.
“Andrew, wait,” I say.
He slams both palms into the door,
then disappears behind.
I run faster.
Shove open the door.
The cold ambushes me,
slices across my chapped cheeks.
My gaze bullets to his retreating back.
“Andrew!” I call out.
He turns fast, angry, sad,
disappointed, tired,
stepping closer.
“What, Allison, what?” he shouts.
“What the fuck do you want from me?”
I stand motionless, petrified,
suspended in a moment
I didn’t prepare for.
The sidewalk’s like glass under my bare soles, biting so deep it feels less like ice and more like fire. Every gust of wind swipes violently at my bare arms,
my bare legs,
my hair.
But the longer I stand stiff,
the more numb I become to it.
All the pain’s happening under the skin.
All I can do is shake my head.
‘Cause I don’t know, Drew.
I don’t know what I want from you.
I just want… you.
But I don’t know how
without stabbing you to death first.
“Fuck!” he shouts, turning, pacing.
I’m watching him.
It’s all I can do.
I’ve never chased anyone before.
Didn’t have a plan.
Don’t know what comes after the moment I stop him from leaving.
He spins back to me,
arms falling to his sides.
“Will I ever be enough for you?” he asks, defeated, voice cracking on the words. His jaw locks up so hard, the muscles tick. “Will I ever be enough—?”
He doesn’t finish. He can’t.
The words die in the cold between us.
Winter breath fogs from his mouth,
then mine,
then nothing.
I know what he wants me to say,
the words that will make him feel better.
“Andrew…”
His eyes hold mine,
wide open,
glassy,
waiting.
A breath shudders out of me.
“Andrew, I can’t answer that.”
At that moment,
hope falls straight through his stare,
his gaze caving in on itself—
blue gone grey in a blink.
I step forward, reaching for him.
“Andrew, let me try to explain—”
“Nah. Fuck you, Allison.”
Hurt floods his features as he steps back.
“Fuck. You.”
And it slices me.
Not just a nick,
his words split me
right down the middle.
He steps back again,
looking almost sick after saying it.
When I blink,
he’s already walking away.
When I blink again,
his back’s farther.
Each time I blink,
the distance grows
until he’s not there anymore.