Chapter 32
My last two texts to Javi have gone unanswered, making my mind run wild with theories about why.
Maybe he fell asleep.
Maybe he got in an accident.
Maybe he’s ghosting me.
I let myself quietly spiral as I sit on this love seat shoved in the corner of this house around a ton of people that I don’t know.
None of them have even really noticed me, which is honestly the best case scenario here. It would be a thousand times worse if anyone was trying to talk to me.
They’re all jumping around, drinking, smoking, making out. Two dudes were yelling at each other and went outside to fight. So that was something. I’m completely sober so they all just look like a bunch of hormonal idiots to me. But even at school they seem like that.
I shouldn’t have had Harold and Nancy drop me off after dinner. I should’ve waited to hear from Javi first. Because now look—I’m fucking stuck here, and this is not my world. Like at all.
But I was too excited. There was something really appealing about him claiming me in front of all of these people. Being his in front of a good chunk of the school.
And now I’m all alone.
I’m starting to feel really sorry for myself, so I decide to go get a beer, making my way into the kitchen, finding one and then scurrying back to my sad seat.
I’ll have one beer—let myself linger in the pain of this rejection a bit—and then I’ll call Harold and Nancy to come pick me back up.
I sit there, nursing my beer while I people watch until I feel a dip in the cushion next to me. I look over to see fucking Carter Hayes sitting there.
“Hey,” he says happily, a big smile on his face as he flicks some of his blond hair off his forehead.
“Hey,” I say in the most monotone, irritated voice possible before turning away from him, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave me the fuck alone.
He chuckles lightly in return. “Having a bad night?”
“Something like that,” I mutter.
I really wish he would just go away. I tip my drink up only to find it empty.
“Fucking fuck,” I hiss as I slam the empty bottle down on the side table next to me.
“Here have this one,” he says with that same cheery demeanor.
I swivel toward him and narrow my eyes at his outstretched arm that’s currently clutching a cold bottle of beer, then flick my eyes over to his other hand holding a different beer, which he sips out of as he waits for me to take the other. “Why do you have an extra one?” I ask.
He shrugs, looking a little shy as he answers me. “I’ve been watching you tonight. I figured offering you a beer would give me an excuse to sit with you.” He ends his statement with a huge gleaming smile.
My eyes narrow even more, until he’s just a little slit of vision that I’m trying to figure out.
Maybe this is all a joke. He’s trying to embarrass me or something. I look around the room, but besides a few curious glances from his teammates, it doesn’t look like anyone is waiting for something to happen.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I say bluntly.
His eyes bug out as he twists his head around to make sure no one heard me, but then he’s back to having that easy smile. “I just…” He purses his lips to think about his next words. “Was hoping to get to know you tonight.”
I roll my eyes but grab the beer from him and immediately take a big swig. “I don’t really want to get to know you.”
He acts like I’ve shot him, holding a hand over his heart and tipping his head back for extra effect. “Oof. That got me. You really don’t spare a guy’s feelings do you?”
I grunt in response, looking away from him to take another sip.
We fall into silence—only the bass of the music and random squeals from the other people at the party.
Maybe he’ll get bored and wander away. But those hopes are dashed when I hear his voice again.
“So, I can’t help but notice that this”—I glance back at him as he waves his finger at our surroundings—“doesn’t seem like it’s your usual scene. ”
“What gave me away?” I ask sullenly.
“Your pissed-off face. How you’re all by yourself over here and haven’t tried to talk to anyone. And that this is very much my scene and I’ve never noticed you around here.”
I shrug, letting my eyes drift away again as I do nothing to keep the conversation alive, but this motherfucker is persistent.
“Why are you here tonight?” he asks casually as he starts picking at the label on his beer bottle.
I chug the rest of my bottle then put it with my other empty one on the table.
Somehow, only a few moments go by and my magical, annoying beer fairy has another cold one to put in my hand. I snatch it without looking at him and tip the cool liquid back against my lips.
I probably shouldn’t drink anymore. I should call Harold and Nancy and go the fuck home.
But this is kind of making me feel better.
Well, numb anyway. Because as cool as I want to act, it fucking sucks that Javi didn’t come.
It more than sucks. It’s painful. If he changed his mind, he could’ve texted me.
Given me something so that I didn’t show up here looking like a fucking idiot.
Instead, my phone stays aggressively still and quiet in my pocket.
Carter’s hand lands on my shoulder, startling me.
I jump and snap my head in his direction.
He chuckles. “Sorry. I was seeing if you heard me.”
“Huh? Heard what?”
“I asked why you’re here tonight.”
I fill my mouth with more beer—stalling. But then I think, fuck it. I don’t know if it’s all the booze or if I’m just feeling crazy, but I’ll share with him, at least partially.
“I was supposed to meet someone here,” I say quietly.
“But they never showed?” His voice is so small and gentle. Kind, even.
“Um…” I feel my eyes start to sting, so I blink a bunch to make it stop. It doesn’t help.
Shit. Shit.
I take another drink to distract myself, trying to pack all of the emotion back inside. But it’s too fucking much. It’s all messy and won’t fit. I can’t contain it. It feels like I’m about to explode—paint this random-ass living room with my guts if I don’t let something out.
And then it happens. I start fucking crying. It’s so unbelievably embarrassing. I’d love for it to stop, but I can’t make my brain work. Every time I tell myself to stop crying, more tears flood over my cheeks.
He gently rubs at my back. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. No need to cry.”
That only makes it worse. I’m a fucking mess. I can’t control it at all. Maybe it’s all the beers.
“He said he would be here,” I say in a pitiful whimpering voice as I cover my face with my hands.
Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. What the hell is wrong with me? Pull it together.
“Want me to take you home?” he asks.
I pull my hands away and look up at him. He looks so sincere and upset for me. And yet, I do not want to ride with him at all.
“No. I’ll just… call someone.” I fumble in my pocket to get my phone out. It seems harder than usual. When I finally get it in my hand, it’s not working. Or maybe it’s me. It’s hard to concentrate on the screen, and when I try to call Harold and Nancy, I keep opening the wrong apps.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter to myself as I stare down at the phone in my lap, doing everything but making a call.
And then the phone is gone from my hand. It takes my brain a second to catch up. “Where the fuck?” I murmur.
Carter’s hand appears in front of my face, reaching for my chin and slowly tipping it up to look at him. He says something to me. But it’s all jumbled, like I have bad reception but in real life.
“Huh?” I ask, and honestly it’s hard to even form the word.
He leans in close to my ear. “Let me take you home!” he yells over the party noise.
“Uh…” My voice trails off. The room tilts a bit, jolting my stomach and washing me in a wave of nausea. “Fuck. Okay,” I mutter.
Before we go, he uses my face to open my phone, and presses a bunch of shit. I want to tell him to stop whatever he’s doing, but it seems like too much effort.
He closes my phone and looks up to smile at me. “There you go, I added my number. Let’s go.”
I’m definitely deleting that later.
He stands up, pulling me with him and starts leading me through the house.
My feet barely work. I keep stumbling and tripping over fucking nothing until we’re finally outside on the front porch. He is almost completely supporting me by this point, half dragging, half walking me to his silver Audi that I’ve seen so many times across my street.
Placing me in the front seat, he buckles me and then gets in the driver’s seat before driving off.
The nausea is getting worse, so I close my eyes, and I keep falling asleep. I think I am, anyway. My eyes will randomly open back up and we’ll be on a different street.
One of the times I open my eyes, I find his hand on my knee. I want to tell him to stop touching me, but I can’t make my mouth form the words.
“I’ll get you home safe,” I hear him say.
And then I blackout.