Chapter Thirty-Two #2
One of the many vital life skills I learned from Ashley is that I don’t have to stay in a situation where I feel uncomfortable just to be polite.
She’s reminded me a few times that I don’t owe anyone my time or attention, and if they make me feel bad, I’m allowed to simply walk away.
I get up from the chair and go back inside.
The look he gave me flashes before my eyes.
It felt like the cold hard truth. It’s obvious to him that Zarmenus and I aren’t a real couple, not because I said something wrong or acted the wrong way. It’s because we are a couple that fundamentally doesn’t make sense. I’m not good or interesting or rich enough for him.
Inside, Zarmenus is still talking to the group from before. I think about joining, but I feel vulnerable and exposed.
I go past them. As I walk past the kitchen, I crash into someone who was leaving. Their drink, which smells like vodka and soda, spills over my shirt.
Great, when I thought tonight couldn’t get worse.
“I’m so sorry,” says the guy I ran into.
“No,” I say. “I ran into you, it’s my fault.”
“Do you want a towel?” he asks.
“I’m good, thanks.”
I go down the hall until I reach the bathroom.
I walk in and close the door behind me, and survey the damage.
It’s bad. The front of my shirt is soaking wet and clinging to my skin.
I’m not even wearing an undershirt, so I can’t really get changed.
The shirt is truly saturated, and I don’t really feel like going out there shirtless.
This is a disaster. A genuine, epic misfire.
And I need my best friend.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, and scroll through my contacts with shaking hands until I find Ashley’s name.
My finger hovers above the call button for a moment. Do I want her to know about this? It’s humiliating.
I tap on her name, and the phone starts to ring. As much as I feel unsure about telling her the reality of this party, I still need to speak to her. She always knows the right thing to say, and always makes me feel better.
The call connects. “Hey!” she says. “You’re up late.”
“I’m at a party and it sucks and I need help.”
“Okay, slow down. What’s going on?”
“I went to a party with Zarmenus and a guy was a dick to me.”
“How so?”
“He implied he knows Zarmenus and I aren’t really dating because of me. He made it seem like I’m obviously not good enough for him.”
“What a dick.”
“I know.”
“I would’ve started throwing fists,” she says.
I laugh. See, this is exactly why I called her. Now, instead of feeling like there’s something obviously bad about me, I’m picturing her taking them all on single-handedly. Knowing her, she’d win.
“But O, you know you are good enough, right? You’re good enough for anyone. He’s just a jealous asshole. I thought people stopped doing petty shit like that at college.”
“I don’t think people ever age out of that.”
“That’s a depressing thought. What happened after that?”
“I excused myself, and crashed into a guy and he spilled his drink on me, then I called you.”
“Breathe, okay? Just because one guy was an asshole doesn’t mean everyone is. Plus, they’ve done the hard work for you. Do you want to be friends with him?”
“God, no.”
“There you go. You’re an amazing person. You’re smart and funny and I love you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“You really don’t,” calls Jackson, his voice coming in through the other end of the phone. I hadn’t realized he was there. I should’ve assumed he would be, they spend pretty much all their time together. “There’s no one better. We love you.”
His voice hits me like a bolt of electricity. I’ve always thought Jackson Jones has the nicest voice I’ve ever heard. It’s usually fairly deep, but when he’s excited about something the pitch goes up. I know it’s just a lingering aftershock of my crush, but still.
“Love you, too,” I say. “Okay, so what should I do?”
“Get back out there!” says Ashley. “Ignore that jerk and try to find someone else to talk to.”
A knock sounds on the door.
“Owen, you in there?”
“Sorry, I have to go,” I say.
“You’ve got this!” calls Jackson.
I hang up. They’re right. There are bad people everywhere.
The good thing is that there are good people everywhere as well.
I open the door and find Zarmenus outside.
His gaze flickers over my face, searching, cautious, like he’s worried saying the wrong thing will break me.
I force a smile, but he just steps closer, like he sees right through it.
“I heard about what happened,” he says, his voice gravelly. “Can I help?”
“Help how?”
He slips into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
Then he moves closer, right into my personal space, and lifts his hand.
For a split second, I think that he’s going to kiss me.
What’s more alarming is that I want that almost desperately.
It has to be the heightened emotions, but a part of me is wishing I didn’t have to think so much and could just act, to hell with the consequences.
“Take your shirt off,” he says.
I blink, not believing what I just heard.
“I can help,” he says. “But I don’t want to burn you, so you better take it off.”
“I’m still not following.”
“I’m a demon, remember,” he says. He raises a hand, and orange flames appear around his palm. I jump backward, banging into the wall. But then Zarmenus waves his hand and the flames disappear.
My heart is currently going so fast it would give a startled hare a run for its money. I suck in some air, and my thoughts settle. I don’t want to go out there with my shirt wet.
I start unbuttoning my shirt. I take it off and hand it to him.
“I didn’t know you worked out,” he says.
“I don’t, really.”
“Well, you look good, roomie. Really good.”
He’s now blatantly looking at my chest. I cross my arms to cover up as much as possible.
“You said you were going to help?”
“Oh, yes.”
He puts my shirt onto the sink, the stain facing up. Then he splays his palm and runs it over the material. A dry warmth fills the room, and his crystal pendant starts glowing. He keeps the flames on his fist far enough away from the material that it dries, but doesn’t catch fire.
He moves his hand over the shirt until it’s completely dry.
“You should put it back on,” he says. “Otherwise people will think we were up to no good.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
He leans against the sink, still holding my shirt.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Enjoying the view.”
I snatch my shirt back from him and put it on. The front is now warm.
“You should know something,” I say as I do the buttons up. “Adam suspects us. It’s what he wanted to talk to me about.”
“Oh, please,” says Zarmenus. “He’s fishing, he doesn’t know anything. You didn’t give us away, did you?”
“No,” I say. “But now I’m worried I seemed guilty.”
“Don’t worry about it. He can be suspicious, but he won’t do anything unless he knows for sure. I promise.”
We leave the bathroom and see a pair of girls waiting to use it. It’s probably a good thing they saw us, and maybe assumed we were in there making out.
Now I’m picturing him kissing me again before I shove those thoughts away as hard as I can. Yes, he is an attractive guy, sure. An extremely attractive guy. But any real feelings have the potential to destroy what I’ve worked so hard for.
And the thing is, we don’t make any sense.
None. Demon stuff aside, he’s a classically handsome prince with such high levels of charisma that he becomes the focus of every room he walks into.
I like video games and being alone and have to think about every move I make a million times before I feel comfortable doing anything.
He is chaos, I am order. We make no sense.
I remember him complimenting me, and my heart leaps.
Maybe my first real college party wasn’t a total disaster after all.