Chapter 28 Hole In My Soul #4
And I’m still here.
Against the beam.
A fucking idiot.
While Andrew and his boys crowd one end of the stage, talking to sound tech.
Because about an hour ago I opened my big mouth, saying I wanted to hear him sing with my whole chest, acting like a badass bitch who could handle ghosts and groupies and girls who had their tongues down his throat.
And I'm still a badass bitch.
I still don’t do jealousy or insecurity.
It’s him who weaponized my words.
It feels like he tossed me into open water in the middle of a storm, and he's just standing there, ready to say ‘told you so’ if I swim, expecting me to drown with a straight face.
And now I’m too proud to leave,
too stubborn to lose that I’d rather stand here bleeding than walk away.
That’s on me.
This pain? Self-inflicted.
And not five seconds later, Talia’s beside him,
purple streaks catching strobe,
brow ring glinting,
her body pressed up against his side with one hand on his shoulder.
He doesn’t back away or shrug her off.
He flicks his eyes to me,
then leans into his hip,
hand buried in his pocket.
Her fingers trace slow
down the back of his arm.
Then up… to his neck.
He turns,
a tilt over his shoulder,
maybe to say something,
or hear what she has to say.
But she reaches, pulling him down.
And she kisses him.
And for one long second—
just a second—
he just stands there.
Not pushing her off.
Not pulling away.
Not kissing her back.
Not stopping her.
Hand in pocket. Head tipped.
Letting her take.
Letting her have him.
And he just fuckin’ stands there.
And I just watch.
And they’re just kissing.
And my throat’s closing up.
My body shuts down.
My chest caves in.
My stomach bottoms out.
Even though it’s only for a goddamn second.
It’s a second too long.
His eyes go wide.
Then he jumps back, panicked.
And his eyes snap to mine.
Like he just woke up.
Then—
Ice.
Cold.
Liquid.
It slaps my skin.
It soaks my hair.
It drips down my collarbone
and inside my dress.
Cold. Sticky. Citrus. Drink.
Alcohol burns my eyes.
Then—“Sorry, babe. Not my fault your slutty face was the thirstiest thing in the room, beggin’ to get wet.”
Around me, people go quiet,
their laughter yanked back into mouths.
Every head is turned.
Eyes tip-toe over me
like I’m a spill on the floor.
Sticky. Stupid. Something to step around.
I stand still. Terrifyingly still.
Soaked. Saying nothing.
Then I wipe the liquid off my chin with the back of my hand.
The girl’s adjusting her bra strap,
fixing her hair,
wiping a single drop of splash off her thigh,
not looking at me.
Her expression is empty, as if what she did wasn’t personal.
And I’m not worth the aftermath.
She turns to someone else,
as I’m standing here, dripping.
She’s already moved on, while I'm shaking,
still trying to comprehend what just happened.
Then Andrew's voice floods the stillness—
“Yo—what the fuck was that?
“Allison. Shit, you’re soaked...”
I feel the heat of him before I see him.
Then he’s leaning over me,
talking into my ear—
“Ay—look at me, look at me.
“Please. Let’s just get outta here. Let’s go.”
Talking to me as if I’ll shatter.
As if I’ve been bleeding all night.
Which I have.
And he knew all along, and didn’t do shit.
The bass thumps like it's laughing.
I can't tell if I'm shaking from being cold
or vibrating from the music.
Andrew's too close,
and I don’t want to be near him.
I do, but now it feels too late.
If he says one more thing to me, I’ll crack.
If he touches me, I’ll fall.
So I beat him to it.
I shove him away, hand against his chest.
He stumbles back half a step, eyes wide.
He didn't expect me to touch him.
And he didn't expect it to hurt.
The whole fucking bet, shattered between us,
not ending in the way I imagined.
I thought I’d break wanting more of him,
not less.
Mikey and Nico glance between us,
unsure whether to step in.
Andrew goes still, staring at me.
Like my hand against his chest sucked all the air out of him.
Then the muscle in his jaw pulses.
His eyes go dark and cold.
All the patience, calmness, kindness drains from his face, leaving the simmering rage he’s been holding down all night.
His head turns, deadly calm, scary slow, eyes locking on the girl who tossed the drink in my face.
Then he’s stepping forward,
chest rising,
veins up his neck.
“Yo—what the fuck is wrong wit’ you, huh?”
His voice cracks out loud, cheeks flushed,
neck red and climbing.
She stands frozen, the straw from her drink idle between her fingers.
Every eye in the room darts to him,
as if they’ve never seen him crack before.
Heads turn. Mouths shut.
Even the music seems confused.
“You mad? Jealous? Insecure? Wish you were her? What is it? You saw someone standin’ there, mindin’ their own fuckin’ business, and your first thought was to throw a fuckin’ drink in their face?”
He stares at her, unbuttoning his shirt.
“That’s weak as fuck. Pathetic. Grow up.”
The moment hangs—
When the guy we were all watching from earlier breaks from the bar,
storms across the scene toward the exit,
shoulder-checking a beam.
Then: “Mason, wait! You forgot your vape!”
She jogs after him, cupping her chest.
“It’s in my tits!”
I blink.
Nico blinks.
Mikey blinks.
My eyes bounce between both of them.
A grin threatens,
then slaps us at the same time.
I press a fist to my mouth, but it’s too late.
The dam breaks.
Laughter rips out of us—
a broken, breathless laugh.
Because if I don’t laugh,
I’m gonna cry in front of everybody.
Nico folds over, face red, snorting hard.
Mikey loses it completely.
Jay's eyes are wide.
“No fucking way his name’s Mason.”
And Andrew watches me,
features stiff as he shrugs out of his shirt.
He holds it out for me—warm, creased, his.
But then—
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
“That was so fucked up.”
It’s Captain Cry and Zit Girl.
“We saw that bitch throw the drink,” Cry says.
“Come on. You need dry clothes.
“I brought extra for an after party.
“You can wear them.”
Zit Girl’s digging through her bag.
“I got an oversized tee—
“Oh! And I got a hoodie!”
Andrew stands there.
Shirt still in his raised fist,
then it lowers slow as I walk away.