15. Wesley #2
“I’m not interested in walking down memory lane with you. I have a date, and it’s bad form to be caught chatting with an ex. ” I spit the word, hating that it applies. Hating that there was any relationship between us. “But you don’t know shit about manners, do you?”
“Here,” the bartender says. I grab Charlotte’s drink and slam it back, the bitter quinine from the tonic flooding my mouth.
“Another please,” I say. This one comes almost immediately.
“Someone’s thirsty,” Maddie says.
“If you’d excuse me, I have a lady waiting for me.”
I force my feet to move from where they’re cemented to the floor and seek out Charlotte. She’s with some people I vaguely recognize, but names escape me as the liquor starts to hum in my veins. A couple who won a reality dating show, a model, and a designer, maybe?
“Sorry to make you wait,” I tell Charlotte. As I give her the drink, my hand lingers over hers.
A shot finds its way into my hand, then another. My mind is quieter somehow, even with the music blaring so loud I feel it rattling my skull.
Charlotte brightens.
She’s pretty, smiling so fucking wide. Her hair is white-blonde, nearly silver in the moonlight. Yeah, pretty.
“How jealous do you want to make him?” I ask, whispering against her ear.
Her hand slips in mine, and the volume in my head turns down even more. It’s not normal, just numb. It’s how I assume it feels when you get shot and adrenaline cancels out the pain. Too bad when the numbness is gone, you’re still bleeding.
But right now, I’m okay, even if I am bleeding out all over the dance floor.
Head spinning. Tequila on my tongue.
Dodge the pool. Slip in anyway.
Water. Legs everywhere, like stems in a vase. Eyes burning.
Lungs on fire. Air. Bursting up to the surface.
That white smile again. Close. So close. I kiss her. She kisses me.
Doesn’t matter. Eyes closed. Floating.
I can pretend to be fine. I’m good at pretending. An expert.
I wake up on the floor. A girl who isn’t Charlotte is tangled in my sheets. Her friend, maybe. The model?
All around us are the remnants of last night. Wine bottles and discarded clothes. My stomach roils, and a fist squeezes in my chest.
“Hey,” she says, lust-laden eyes looking up at me through thick lashes.
“Did we?” I’m still in my pants. The button is undone as well as the zipper, but they’re on. My panic heightens, blood pounding in my ears.
“No, we got back and you freaked out. Insisted on sleeping on the floor. We still can, though, if you’ve changed your mind?” She reaches out, her pointed manicure pricking against my stomach.
I jolt away. “I need you to go.”
“Can I—”
Bending, I bundle her clothes in my arms and shove them her way. “I need you to go.” I know I’m coming off as rude, but I don’t have time to care. It’s this or fall apart.
And between being seen as the asshole they expect me to be and the reality of the crumbling man that I am, I’ll always prefer the lie.
I retreat to the bathroom until I hear my front door slam.
The night stitches itself together. Well, not entirely. There are holes, but not when it comes to the things I wish I could forget. Maddie and her hungry eyes. The liquor burning as I pretended it was antiseptic, treating all my wounds tucked deep inside.
My phone rings in the other room. I crawl back and search for it. On the lit up screen, I find ten calls and four texts from Derek. I stop when I see Avery’s name.
Avery: Where the hell are you?
Avery: A threesome? Seriously?
I have no idea what she’s talking about, though, my memory isn’t all that reliable right now.
Didn’t whoever that was say nothing happened?
I Google my name and am faced with pictures from after I jumped into the pool?
Fell? It doesn’t matter because I’m kissing Charlotte in one shot, then the girl from this morning in another. Vanessa, according to the caption.
“Fuck.”
I try to get up but my legs feel too weak to carry me. I hit the floor and my head falls into my hands.
I promised I’d be better, and all I did was live down to their expectations.
I pick up my phone and swallow the knot in my throat as the line rings.
“Hello, this is Dr. Natalie Davis.” Her voice is level and professional. It’s a shock to my system, forcing me to stay focused.
“It’s Wesley,” I rasp.
“Hi, Wesley. How can I help you?”
“Sorry, you’re probably busy. I can call back later. I—” This was a mistake. I’m not feeling good. I’m hung over. In a few hours, I’ll be fine and realize how stupid I’m being.
“I have time,” she says. The sound in the background dims, and I hear a door close, so I assume she’s walked into that library-like office I saw in the background of our calls. “It’s my job to be here when you need me. You’re not an inconvenience.”
“Shit. Sorry. There’s this pressure in my chest, you know the type you get when you’re stressed?”
“Well, no, I don’t. But it’s not uncommon for people with anxiety. Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Her cool voice settles something in me. Not entirely, but enough for my thoughts to knit together into something cohesive.
“No. I ran into someone last night and I thought I’d be fine.
” I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my body into itself.
“That I was past it, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be.
Fuck, what if I’m never okay?” The thought terrifies me more than anything else.
That this is all that I am, all I can be. “Shit. I don’t know how to do this.”
“We’ll figure this out together. You took an important step by calling. I’m here to help.”