Chapter 34 Skylar
Skylar
The music is obnoxiously loud.
But the DJ is amazing, and it’s been way too long since I danced all night. I grind against a guy whose hand’s been on my hip for three songs. I barely remember what he looks like—my eyes are shut to block out the strobe lights. He was cute. Whatever.
We’re tangled in a sweaty mess of bodies in downtown Rochester’s newest club. After two Blue Hawaiians, I feel like I’m back in college, before I got sick, when I had in-person friends.
It’s been so long since I drank that my body’s all tingly. For once, it’s probably not the meds. I feel better when I don’t drink, but since I feel like shit no matter what, why not enjoy the escape a buzz provides on a Saturday night?
It’s been a week since my screenshots leaked, and I’ve started getting hate mail at work. Turns out some of Pike’s fanboys didn’t like the boundaries I put up when it came to sex. They think I’m denying one of the greatest athletes ever.
It doesn’t matter that those posts weren’t even about Pike. One email said I should be grateful someone’s willing to fuck my “disgusting, broken body.” Another described graphic ways to “stop my whining.” And then there are the creepy men with fetishes for disabled women.
I forward every email to Pike.
It’s our only contact since we broke up. After receiving the first email, I threw up in the bathroom, then sent him a screenshot to see if his lawyers can pursue any legal action.
Pike said he’d take care of it and to be in touch if I needed help with restraining orders. He also offered his legal team to me personally, even saying they could talk to my employer if needed. Luckily, it hasn’t come to that. Yet.
I’ve stared at my phone all week, hoping Pike’s name will pop up for any other reason. I can’t stop thinking about him leaving. About how exhausted he was because of our relationship.
I miss him so much it physically hurts. I keep rolling over at night expecting him to be there. Needing his arms around me.
This is why I don’t get attached. The more you rely on someone, the more your life stops being your own.
I drown out all those thoughts now. I’m having a great time dancing, and I’m going home with this guy tonight. That’ll show everyone. I’m not damaged. I can be easygoing and fun. I can still perform abledness.
Except the music is really fucking loud. My head is pounding. The strobe lights burn behind my eyelids. And this guy’s grip is really, really tight.
I jerk my thumb in the direction of the bar. He orders us shots, and I accept because it’s what healthy women do. They flirt and laugh and don’t explain that their head always feels like an overfilled water balloon.
I used to pretend, and I can do it again.
I smile at my companion. I don’t remember his name. Zach, maybe. Nice arms. Decent smile. He won’t remember my name tomorrow either.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” I ask.
His green eyes light up, but maybe that’s just the strobes. “My place or yours?”
“Yours.”
I sway as I stand. Not sure if it’s the alcohol or my head. He takes my hand, and I recoil a little. It’s warm and big like Pike’s hand. Smoother, though. I follow him out of the club, letting him handle the brunt of the crowd.
Outside, the air is too chilly for this late in May. I rub my arms as he calls for a ride.
“Chilly?” he asks, his body encircling me as he leans us against the wall.
My heart races, but not in a good way. I don’t want to stand here holding each other like we’re a couple. I just need to get out of here. Then I can feel good again. I can.
“Car’s a minute away.” Zach angles my chin up and leans down. But as his lips near mine, all I can think of is Pike. The alcohol hums through my veins, dulling the ache, but not enough to keep the wrongness from creeping in.
“No.” I turn my head. Push him away. “I don’t want this.”
I want a kiss that takes up space in my chest and leaves an imprint on my skin. Pike has ruined me for anything less. Why did I think I could go back to how it was before? Why did I believe I could want anyone else?
“Hey,” someone says. “Everything okay over here?”
I barely register Zach letting go and another man placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Is this guy bothering you?” he asks.
“No.” I brace myself against the wall. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Leave me alone!”
His hand leaves my shoulder. “Skylar, it’s Kal.” He snaps his fingers at Zach. “You. Go away.”
Confusion creeps in through my head pain. The guy next to me is indeed blond and blue-eyed, but he’s not in sweats holding a sponge for Analia. This look-alike is slimmer in person, wears trendy ripped jeans with a black button-up, and has an unlit joint between his fingers.
“Kalle?” I look around for Analia, but when I only spot a group of guys, I burst into tears.
“It’s Kahl-leh,” he murmurs as I sob into his shirt. “Not Kahlee. Oh, never mind.” He gestures to his friends. “You guys go ahead.”
“Ooh, Kahl-leh,” one guy says with an exaggerated accent.
Kalle flips him off and then takes out his phone.
“N-No. Don’t tell Pike. Please don’t tell Pike.”
A pause. “Is there someone else I can call? Lennox—Analia?”
I shake my head. I’ll talk to her and Emy when I get home. Kalle pockets his joint and steers me toward the sidewalk. If it were any other man, I’d be freaked out. But I get in the Uber with him when it arrives. If Analia and Pike trust him, then I will too.
Another sob escapes, but Kalle stays quiet. He just lets me cry. The minutes stretch like hours until we reach my street. He finally glances over when the car slows.
“So…is it safe to say you and Pike broke up?”
“Analia didn’t tell you?”
“There have been…hints.”
“And…Pike?” Saying his name stings. “He didn’t mention anything?”
“Haven’t talked to him since the article came out. I didn’t even know he liked writing.”
“He keeps to himself.”
“Yeah.” Kalle tucks his hands into his pockets. “He was always quiet, even as a kid. And now, with the accident…it’s a lot of changes. I’m sure it’s hard.”
I nod.
“Let me walk you to your door.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.”
“I insist.” He shoots me a quick wink. “Don’t want Lennox telling me I wasn’t a gentleman when she finds out about this later, do I?”
I study him as he strolls beside me. It’s the first time we’ve met that I’ve been able to focus on him. He’s more serious than the pictures I’ve seen of him, but it’d be weird if he were all smiles right now.
“I wonder,” he says as we reach my door, “if there might not be a way to reconcile? Whatever Pike might’ve said, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. I know quite a few dipshits. He’s not one of them.”
“No, he’s not.” I fumble with my key, and Kal helps, my motor skills off from the mix of medication and alcohol.
Another tear threatens to fall, but I blink it back. I don’t know why I ever thought I could fake being okay. I can’t escape my problems because I can never escape myself. No matter where I go, my body—and my pain—will always follow.
“Ah. It’s not him, then. It’s you, and all that?”
“Yes,” I say. “Everything I build gets broken.”