28 Aubie
THE WORDS CONTINUE TO FLOW without any conscious will. Maybe it was seeing him laid out like that. All that blood. I glance down at my hands. Even though I’ve scrubbed them practically raw, I can still see the red stain. So much blood.
And then to come here, the place where they brought me that night. The night he…
Deep breath.
“We continued to see each other, meeting at the old garden house at the back of our property. What else were we going to do? He had become my whole world. The only good thing in it.”
I swallow, the words choking me.
Remembering his smile.
The way his green eyes would light with mischief.
The way his body felt moving with mine.
Young and stupid and looking for a thrill.
Finding it in each other’s arms.
Each other’s firsts.
I close my eyes and wait for the memory to pass. Tucking it away to keep it safe.
Cutter is quiet. Patient. Steady.
Maybe that’s something I need.
Maybe later.
Right now I need to do this. It’s time I told someone the truth, and for some reason I don’t understand, I want it to be him.
“I got a car for my sixteenth birthday. Something flashy and fast that screamed Rich Douche. Naturally, it was my father’s idea.
After the incident we didn’t speak of, he went out of his way to make me look like society’s most eligible young bachelor-to-be.
Dress the right way, have the right friends.
You know…Act. The. Part. I hated it, but I played along because I had my secret.
Bryce and I planned to leave as soon as I got my trust fund at eighteen.
And yeah, I know, that’s young to receive a trust, but my grandmother loves me and hates my father and it’s her money.
“Anyway, I hated that car. Bryce and I took turns beating it up, seeing how much it could take. That’s what we were doing the night the accident happened. Just two stupid kids out having fun. No alcohol. No drugs. We were just high on each other.”
I stop and take another deep, calming breath.
“There was so much blood. His head…fuck.” I swallow. It takes me a minute to keep going. “His head was crushed. I kept trying to get him to wake up, but…he was never going to do that.”
Breathe.
“I didn’t know what to do. In some logical part of my brain, I knew Bryce was dead, even though my heart would never accept that. In some ways, it never has.”
Deep breath.
“I knew if I called 911 there would be a whole scandal about a Gauthier caught joyriding.” I look up at him. “You have to understand. I was raised that way. Everything was always about The Image. The Gauthier name.” I shake my head. “I hated it.”
When I pause again, he asks, “So what did you do?”
“The most cowardly thing I could. I called my father. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”
And if you want to play shrink, probably the reason I am the way I am today.
“The story he and his lawyers came up with was Bryce carjacked me and was holding me against my will. He lost control and nearly killed me. Of course, anyone with two brain cells could figure out that story was pure bullshit. For one thing, it was the right side of the car that was crushed, which meant it would have been me who was killed if Bryce was driving. But, when you have money and power, you make your own reality.”
I can almost hear my father’s voice after he drilled that story into my head.
“I told you to stay away from him. His death is on your hands.”
“The worst part was Bryce’s parents. My soulless father made me go with him to Bryce’s house to warn his family they were lucky we weren’t suing them for their ‘delinquent son’s actions.
’ It was that moment that finally opened my eyes to the monster he was, not just to me, but to the whole world.
And he made me a part of it. It was his way of ensuring I fell in line. ”
I squeeze my eyes shut, brushing at the tear that sneaks out, and swallow the lump in my throat.
It’s been nine years and it still hurts like it was yesterday.
That’s why I keep everyone at arm’s length.
Why I work so hard to ensure the memory stays buried.
And then tonight…the blood. The dream. It all came crashing back in vivid detail.
Being here doesn’t help. They knocked me out when I wouldn’t calm down enough for them to set the compound fracture in my arm.
That and a few scratches were my only injuries.
It wasn’t fair. It should have been me lying in the morgue.
Part of me wishes it had been because I woke up to an even worse pain. A truth I couldn’t stomach.
I had killed my best friend. My first love.
No amount of regret would ever change that, and I knew the weight of that realization would become something I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
I had to find a way to cope with that, or I wouldn’t survive. There were days when I didn’t want to.
The school counselor suggested therapy for depression, but my father shut that down right away.
Gauthiers didn’t get depressed. He assured her I would outgrow whatever was bothering me.
I just had to channel my energy into something productive.
I guess in a way I did. I threw myself into becoming his worst nightmare.
Cutter is watching me patiently, his espresso eyes sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
I wipe my cheeks dry and muster a half-hearted smile. “It’s okay. That’s the day I disowned my father. Fuck his name. Fuck his inheritance. All I want from him is to dance on his grave.”
And I’m doing everything in my power to speed that along.
There’s a soft knock on the door then Daryl pokes his head in. “The nurse is giving us our marching orders. Guess we’ve overstayed our welcome.”
I stand up to leave then reach out and close my hand around Cutter’s, giving it a light squeeze. “I’ll come back to visit–if that’s okay?”
His smile is the warmest thing I’ve seen today. “I’d like that.” When I turn to go, he adds, “Aubie?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for saving my life.”
I have all I can do not to burst into tears. “You’re welcome,” I choke.
? ? ?
I surprise myself when I crash hard into a dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I probably would have stayed like that all day if the ringing didn’t wake me up.
It takes me a minute to figure out what the noise is. I try to shut it out, pulling a pillow over my head and burrowing back under the covers, but every time it stops for a few seconds, it starts back up again.
Finally I give up and fumble on the nightstand for my phone. “Jesus fuck, what?” I growl when I answer it.
“So you are alive,” Jimi says.
“More than I can say for what you’ll be for waking me up.”
He chuckles. “You can threaten me in person. Come answer your door.”
My door? What the fuck? It’s…I squint at my phone…one-thirty. In the afternoon. “Give me a minute.”
I push up and rub the sleep from my eyes. What the fuck is he doing here? I nearly trip over the bloody clothes on the floor as I make my way across the room, grabbing my kimono on the way and slipping it on.
I unlock and yank the front door open, squinting against the day’s cold brilliance. Jimi’s smile greets me as he holds out a tall cup from my favorite smoothie place. I grunt and accept it as I turn and head back into the dim solace of my livingroom, leaving him to follow or not.
“Unless you’re suddenly moonlighting for DoorDash, what the hell are you doing here?” I ask as I plop down on the couch.
He joins me and kicks his feet up on the ottoman. “I’ve been calling you for the last hour. Figured I’d better come by for proof of life.”
I grab the straw between my teeth and suck at the thick liquid. “Why would you think I was dead?”
“Well, according to our last conversation, you were at the hospital after a near-death experience. You never got back to me.”
Oh yeah. That. “It wasn’t my near-death experience.”
He waves that aside. “Semantics. So how is Cutter? I’m assuming he made it through surgery?”
The thought of Cutter brings back everything from last night.
The injury, the hospital. My confession.
Oh my god, I told him about Bryce. No one knows about Bryce, not even my closest friends.
Steph is my oldest one, but we didn’t meet until the summer before senior year.
Long after I had embarked upon my journey of repression and denial.
Not wanting to spiral down that path, I throw my concentration into savoring the fruity chill of the smoothie. It actually hits the spot, since it’s the first thing I’ve put in my stomach for nearly twenty-four hours.
“The knife missed his major organs, though he’ll be in the hospital for a day or two.”
“Well, that’s good news. I mean, the guy’s a dick but I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.” He looks at me like he just realized what he said. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Calling him a dick. I know you have a thing for him.”
I quirk a brow. “A thing?”
“You know what I mean. Though I guess for you he is a dick. You know, since you’ve been riding it.” He throws me a wink and a nudge.
I roll my eyes. Me and my big mouth.
And why am I suddenly protective of that information, especially with Jimi. We talk about everything.
“I hear the cops were at the club,” I say, changing the subject. Luckily he doesn’t call me on it.
“Yeah, I saw them questioning Claire in the lobby while I was on break. Did they talk to you?”
Daryl told me on our way back to the club to pick up my car this morning that they had questioned him at the hospital and would probably be in touch with me since I was the only one who actually saw anything.
Other than Cutter.
The thought of them bothering him while he’s recovering stirs an unbidden rush of resentment in me.
Why should I care? He’s a big boy.
Still don’t like it.
Just one of the many things I’m trying to come to terms with this morning. Afternoon. Whatever. Maybe it’s a good thing I have the distraction of Jimi’s company right now.
“No, but Daryl said they would,” I reply.