Chapter 3 #2
"No, you're right. I don't want that. I don't want Saige to be scared and alone. Just, um, I bought her those sheets, remember? They're in the backseat of my car. And make sure she eats something because she looked so tired, and you know when she gets upset, she doesn't eat."
"Yeah, I know." He studies me for a minute before asking, "Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm going out with Josiah, anyway, so…it's totally fine. But, um, will you tell me how she is?"
"Of course." He leans forward, placing a hand on my cheek before kissing my lips. "I love you."
"I love you, too." It's easier to say now than it was before.
Maybe because I don't want Nolan to become a pile of bricks, too.
"And if you wanted to tell her anything—and I know you don't want to, and you don't have to—but you could tell her that I really am sorry, and I hate what I did.
Tell her I miss her, and I'm fucking miserable, and that I'd change it if I could. "
"I'll text you," he says, heading for the door.
That means no.
"All right. Good night."
After he leaves, I drag my ass up the staircase to grab my phone and wallet, and then head out the front door. I pull my hood over my head, stuff my hands into my pockets, and cross the street before walking several rainy blocks to a campus bar.
I step into the warm, crowded space, shrugging off my jacket before looking for my friends.
My friends. The ones whose opinions of me I thought were so fucking important that I had to shrug Saige off on Halloween.
Look at me now.
"Dax!" Camryn shouts before throwing her arms around my neck.
"What's up?"
"Hell yes! The fucking party is here," Josiah says.
I stop a server, handing her my credit card. "Hey, everybody! Drinks are on me for the rest of the night!"
The room erupts in cheers, and Josiah slaps me on the back. "That's what I'm talking about! He's back, folks."
"I was never gone."
He makes a face. "Sure you weren't. We're all just glad you came to your fucking senses, bro."
"Come on," Camryn says, dragging me toward a booth at the back of the bar. A couple of girls scoot over, and I sit on the end before Cam drops onto my lap.
She leans in, whispering, "A few of us are going back to my apartment after this for a little hot tub party—very exclusive. You should come."
That dull ache becomes a pile of bricks again.
All I can think about is the time I spent in the hot tub with Nolan and Saige last month and how fucking happy I was.
If I'd known how quickly that feeling would slip through my fingers and that I'd be left with this instead, I would've done things differently.
I'd do whatever I could to slow down time, and I'd say what I mean.
I'd be more careful, like Nolan asked me to. And I never would have left her alone that night.
That's what I like to tell myself, anyway. But there's a part of me that knows it isn't true; I wouldn't have listened.
You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you.
"I don't like hot tubs," I snap.
"What? Since when?"
"It's recent. It's a hygiene thing."
The server sets a tray of shots in the middle of the table, and I throw one back, hoping to shut up the voice in my head.
"I think you'll like this one."
She brings her mouth to mine, kissing me, but her tongue feels like a fucking dead slug in my mouth, warm and heavy, choking me, and I just want her to get the fuck off me. I break away, reaching for the single shot remaining on the tray, and force it down.
Cam's lip curls upward. "What's wrong with you?"
I shrug. "Don't know what you're talking about. I'm good."
She sneers at me again before sliding off my lap and heading toward the bar while Josiah approaches the table with a bottle of champagne and a tray of flutes.
"I got the good stuff since you're buying," he says. "You don't mind, right?"
I shrug, barely aware of what he said because I'm staring at the French label, picturing Saige, her face scrunched up, clinging to a tiny white towel as she struggles to read a similar bottle.
Everything reminds me of her. In two months, she managed to infiltrate every fucking aspect of my psyche and warp my own sense of identity.
If anything, she played me. Maybe I should hate her for it.
Josiah pops the cork, and champagne sprays over the table, pulling me out of my head. Then, he fills each flute and passes them around.
"To Dax," he says, lifting his glass, "without whom this ridiculously expensive display would not be possible. But wait, wait, wait—don't drink yet. I feel like we should also toast to Elias."
Jesus Christ. Not this again.
"The fucking Batman of West Pine U. He couldn't be here tonight—probably because he's patrolling—and quite frankly, I think we'll all sleep a little better knowing he's out there, watching over us all."
I think I'm going to throw up.
"Amen," Brayden says. "God bless West Pine Batman—a true Canadian hero!"
"Don't forget, you can order your signed West Pine Batman shirts exclusively from me."
Yeah, fuck this. I don't want my fucking champagne anymore. It's not even that funny.
While everyone else drinks to their fucking Batman, I take out my phone and open my text messages.
If you'll just talk to me, I'll let you call me Dante.
You can punch me in the face as hard as you want.
I'll stub my toe on purpose—hard—and let you watch. You pick the object.
But I know she won't see them anytime soon. She's with Nolan. And even when she does see it, I still won't get a reply.
I stuff the phone back into my pocket and drain my stupid Elias champagne.
I don't remember anything after that. I wake up the next morning on the kitchen floor of someone's shitty apartment, throw up in the garbage can, and walk home.