Chapter Twelve
So much for a drunken night of
distracting myself from Rory. Of moving on. What a joke.
I stumble into Tuck's
bedroom and press the ice I grabbed from the kitchen onto my
swollen knuckles. We don't even bother discussing my hitting that
douchebag, because neither of us is surprised it happened. Tuck
knew our night was fucked the second he laid his fingers on her
hair. I think he's probably more surprised at the fact that
I didn't hit the
fucking bartender who'd been staring at Rory's perfect ass all
night than the fact that I did
hit that fucking douchebag who put his hand on
her.
Instead we talk about the
same thing we'd been talking about for half the night—Rory's
drunken outburst.
My plan had been to try
and move on. To try and get over her by hooking up with some random
girl. But the girls that Marshall found just weren't doing it for
me.
They were cute enough, I
guess, but total dogs compared to the last girl I was with—the one
standing less than ten fucking feet away, her proximity only
highlighting how lacking they truly were.
But I realized pretty
quickly that they weren't the problem, that it was me, so I forced
some game to go through the motions.
But my heart wasn't in
it.
Who am I kidding? My
heart's never been in it. Not until Rory. But I knew that before
tonight.
The problem was my dick
wasn't in it either. Those girls just weren't doing it for me. And
Rory was right fucking there.
But she's in our group of
friends, she's my friend, so she'll always be around—I want her around. So I figured I'd
need to figure out how to move on even while the girl messing up my
head was barely a few feet away.
And then she flipped the
fuck out.
I wish I could say that I
was as pissed off as I acted. But the truth is it was
hot.
So fucking hot.
Watching her go all
possessive and call that girl a slut. I fucking loved
it.
My dick was definitely in
it then, just not for the girl I'd been flirting with, but instead
for the one who'd caused all this damn heartache in the first
place.
It confused the shit out
of me though.
This was what she wanted.
So why she was acting all jealous and possessive tonight, I can't
for the life of me figure out.
"Why now? It makes no
sense," I mumble.
Tucker just shrugs,
noncommittal. What the fuck is that
supposed to mean?
I raise my eyebrows at
him, which is all I need to do to communicate my internal question
to my closest friend since fucking kindergarten. In all reality,
he's the only close friend I'm actually close to. The boys are the boys, but
Tucker knows shit. I've talked to him—as much as I've ever talked about
anything to do with my private life. Well, before Rory, that is.
I've opened up more to her in a few months than anyone else I've
ever known. It's pretty crazy when you think about it. But the
truth is, I don't regret it. As pissed off as I get, I know I'm
only angry because I still fucking love her, and it kills me not to
have her.
Tuck shrugs again then
says, "It's not really that big of a surprise, I mean, is
it?"
I stumble over to the foot
of the bottom bunk bed. I still think it's ridiculously funny that
Tucker still has fucking bunk beds. He's fucking eighteen years
old. I slide down to sit on the floor and lean back against the
mattress and Tuck sits on his writing desk, sucking down a bottle
of water. I could probably use one of those, but right now I'm
feeling too lazy to get it. And I want to know why Rory's behavior
tonight wasn't surprising to Tuck.
"Why would it not be
surprising? She ended it with me, not the other way around. We were together, she wanted to
go back to being friends. She said so very clearly, I fucking
assure you… She knows how I feel about her."
"Does she?" Tucker
interjects.
"Of course she does, I
fucking told her!"
"And what did she say?"
Tucker asks, nosing after the details. Fucking Tucker. Why the fuck would
he need the play-by-play now? What does it matter what she'd said
back then?
"You know what the fuck
fucking happened." I really do curse a lot
when I'm drunk, apparently. "She said she
loved me too, and then she broke up with me not a full fucking day
later, and then left a goddamned motherfucking note, and got on a plane in the
middle of the night." I repeat what he already knows for his
sadistic fucking pleasure. My chest hurts. I rub it with my fist.
I've been doing that a lot lately.
"So she said she loved
you, too."
That's his takeaway from what I just ranted? My expression says it all.
"I just mean… when you
told her how you felt, she said she felt the same way. You said she
knows how you feel about her. Because you told her, right? But when
you told her, she felt the same…
"It isn't as if you've
told her since. And judging by her reaction tonight—which is,
again, the reason we're having this conversation—she obviously
still has feelings for you. So by your own logic, if you didn't
know that fact before tonight, even though she'd told you so in the
past, don't you think it's possible that she doesn't actually know how you feel
about her? You've kind of been avoiding her the last few
weeks…"
I'm still way too drunk to
follow his logic. Fortunately, he realizes this almost immediately
and revises his play.
"If you thought she went
from loving you to over you in a few fucking weeks, don't you think
maybe she thinks the same about you?"
My brow furrows and I
blink at my friend.
What the hell is happening
here?
I'm drunk. So very drunk.
But Tucker is using my own logic against me and has kind of just
made sense of fucking everything. Is it really possible she thinks
I don't want her anymore? That I don't love her?
The thought kills me.
Completely fucking guts me. I never even considered the possibility
that she didn't know. But how
could she not know? And how is
Tucker the one bringing
this to my attention?
I'm still stuck in this
alternate universe, where on top of the day I've already had, now
Tucker lands Carl for a girlfriend and suddenly he's fucking
Relationship Yoda.
"I fucked her," I admit,
my intoxicated brain making my voice sound way too loud as my head
starts to pound. "No, not fucked
her. You know…" I will not say
made love out loud, not
to Tucker. But now that Tucker has Carl, I think he might know what
I mean, or at least something like it. I'm not sure anyone could
have ever experienced how it is with Rory and me.
Tuck lets out a short
laugh. I am amusing to him. I guess I am a little
slurry.
"Whatever. That day she
was all falling asleep at lunch. At the diner. And I took her home
before sixth period, remember?"
Tuck nods.
"So one thing led to
another, and then after… she was acting like it was just a friends
with benefits kind of thing. Like it was no fucking big deal.
That's when I decided to back off for good. It finally got through
to me that she just didn't want to fucking be with me. And I got
mad. And then… I just needed to distract myself." Tucker hadn't
known about that. I doubt anyone did, since Rory is just as private
as I am. All Tucker knew was that Rory and I had had an argument
and I called him to pick me up and drive me back to school to pick
up my car.
"So after you
you-knowed her," Tuck
replies, and my eyes narrow. "And she acted all casual, what'd you
do? Did you tell her that it wasn't
no big fucking deal to you? Did you tell her how you
felt?"
I glare at him, and I see
a flash of anxiety in his eyes. It's barely even there before it's
gone. Tucker and I have always had a no-holds-barred kind of
friendship. We don't sugar coat things, and we've always both been
thick skinned enough to take it. But right now, I'm pissed
again.
How dare he imply that
this fucking torture is my own doing? That I didn't do enough to
get my girl back? I put myself fucking out there. I'd been all
about that girl since the first day I ever saw her. I put myself
out there and she fucking obliterated my fucking heart. And Tucker
is saying I didn't?
Now I'm more
fucking pissed.
And I guess Tucker might be thinking about the other times he's
seen me both drunk and pissed off. A few brawls at house parties
and two bar fights. Well three if you include tonight. I wasn't
even actually drunk for the second one. But it happened in a bar
and I was underage so it landed me back with weekly appointments
with Dr. Schall for six months. Nobody gave a shit that the prick
I'd laid out fucking deserved it. That he'd grabbed some girl's ass
even after she told him to leave her alone. But the other
times—those times I was just drunk and pissed for some reason or
another, a bad combination for me.
And Tuck's implying I
didn't fight for Rory is making me want to fight
him.
"You make it sound like I
just gave up. I fucking fought for her!" I growl.
Since when do I fucking growl?
And then Tucker fucking
shrugs. Again. And that agitates me even more. "Did you?" He says
the wrong goddamned thing, and then makes the mistake of not
backing up before I charge him.
I swing hard, and he's
lucky I'm drunk, because though the hit lands, it connects with his
shoulder instead of his jaw. He pushes me back and we grapple, and
my back hits the side of his stupid fucking bunk bed.
Motherfuck that
hurt.
I strike again, a solid
punch to his stomach, and Tuck bends over and grunts. He growls as
he runs at me, knocking me to the ground, but in my current state,
we're pretty evenly matched, and we wind up in a wrestler's
hold.
"You didn't fucking fight for her!
Shooting the messenger isn't going to change that!" Tuck
shouts.
"I fucking love her!" I
slur, losing my resolve.
What the fuck is wrong
with me?
Why am I fighting Tucker
when it's myself I want to fucking hit? I loosen my grip
marginally, and Tucker does the same, albeit cautiously.
"I never doubted that,"
Tuck takes a deep breath.
I reverse my grip and push