CHAPTER 5 | Abby
?CHAPTER 5
Abby
“T hat’s what you’re wearing?” Sam asks, crudely.
“Not a fan?” I ask, already heading back into the bedroom to change.
“We’re going to a party. An oversized sweatshirt and jeans aren’t exactly party attire.” He continues shouting from the living room. “Wear that black crop top that laces up the front. The ripped jeans are fine. Besides, I leave for my work trip tomorrow. I’d like to enjoy the sight of you.”
Ouch. The top he’s talking about is cute, but there’s a problem. It doesn’t have sleeves. That’s what I was hoping to get away with today. “Sam, the bruises on my wrist aren’t gone yet.”
“Throw some makeup on them. Change your shirt. Let’s go. We’re going to be late.” The annoyance is clear in his voice.
Late? To a house party? Is that even possible? Doing as I’m told, I change my shirt, keep the ripped black skinny jeans on, and slip into my white Vans. I grab some foundation before turning the corner out of the bedroom. “Better?” I ask as I head straight for the door, grabbing my black leather purse from the hook.
A firm grip on my forearm halts me before I open the front door. “You can lose the attitude,” he snaps.
He doesn’t let go, signaling he’s waiting for an apology. “Sorry,” I say, looking to the floor to hide my eye roll.
“That’s better. Let’s go.” He lets go of my arm and opens the door waiting for me to go through first. “That kind of attitude will not be tolerated at the party. I will not hesitate to take you home,” he says quietly as we make our way to the elevator.
Children get spoken to like that. Not adults. I hate it when he treats me like a child. It didn’t use to be like this. He used to treat me like a goddess like I was the best damn thing to ever happen to him. We used to go on cute dates and fancy dinners. Now, I don’t remember the last time we went on a proper date. Most things we do now revolve around what Sam wants to do, and what Sam’s friends want to do. I feel more like a status symbol than a girlfriend. I was excited about the bike meet last weekend, but it quickly turned into the same old game. We show up, he holds me at his hip as if I’m going to run away, and then exclusively talks to his friends. I don’t exactly fit in with the people he hangs out with. Being the only female biker in the group doesn’t help my case.
The car rolls to a stop about a block from the party Sam was invited to. We make our way up the sidewalk past the sprouting grass and weeds that sat dormant all winter. Unruly bushes at the front of the house are slowly coming alive with spring buds. I can already hear the loud thumps from the bass of the music spilling from the open windows and doors. I can only imagine how much the neighbors hate whoever lives here.
The senior tradition of having parties every night for two weeks before graduation has been going on for years. I don’t know who organizes them, but they always happen. My dad went to Oxly for his undergrad degree, and he assured me that these parties were a big deal. I still remember him warning me the day I got my acceptance letter, “Just be careful with the jungle juice. If it’s anything like they made when I was there, it doesn’t take much to get fucked up.”
Last year I got hammered on it with Meredith. This was before everything started going downhill between Sam and me, so he drove us home as we giggled in the back seat the entire drive. I proceeded to throw up when we made it home, Meredith following soon after. I chuckle a little under my breath as the memory plays in my head.
We climb the rickety front stairs of the tall brick house. White paint is peeling off the front door that sits propped open by a case of beer already missing a few cans. Classy. The living room and hallway are so full that walking through is almost impossible, but I can still make out a couch and chair to the left. Sam grabs my hand, leads the way to the staircase on the right, and shoves his way through the couple kissing at the bottom.
“Get a room,” he asserts as the girl falls forward onto the guy’s chest. I don’t know how she could have gotten much closer, but she managed.
When we reach the third floor, somehow, even louder music plays on the large black speakers hanging on the walls.
“Hey, man!” a guy in a black muscle tank yells from the far corner. He holds up a red plastic cup full of God knows what.
“Shane!” Sam yells back, pulling me along with him. They fist bump before Sam grabs a plastic cup and fills it from the sweaty keg in the corner. I don’t want to know how they got that thing up the stairs. Luck is the only thing keeping it from falling through the floor of this old house. Unless they’re a fan of the extremely scuffed-up look, the thin wooden slats could use a refinish. I follow behind as he shifts from place to place. “You remember my girl, Abby, right?”
“Oh, you bet I do. Hot stuff right there.” The look Shane gives me as he eyes me up and down makes the dinner in my stomach threaten to come up.
Sam smiles with that knowing look like he won an unspoken competition. Sometimes I think this is the only reason he brings me to these things. Because he likes to show me off. That should make me feel good. Right? But it doesn’t. I feel exploited like a degraded, overused trophy.
“Sorry, man. I don’t share,” Sam says, suddenly defending his property.
“Oh, come on. Not even once?” Shane asks, cocking his head to the side, gaze trained on me, but not my eyes.
“No can do. I’m not even sure she’d let you if you tried. She’s a bit feisty.”
“The feisty ones are always the good ones,” Shane says, winking at me.
Puke. I just might. I roll my eyes, making sure he sees before looking around the room to find an escape. They talk about me like I’m not standing right here.
“Eye roll and everything,” Shane announces to Sam.
“It’s her best trick. Like I said, feisty.” Sam shoots me a warning glare, silently telling me to behave. He turns away, starting a new topic of conversation with Shane, leaving me behind him. Quickly forgotten. Not unusual. He used me, now he’s done with me.
Shane nods to somewhere behind us. “Six o’clock.”
Sam spins his head and takes a quick glance over his shoulder before turning and nodding at Shane. It doesn’t take a genius to know they’re looking at girls. The resentment hits me, but I’m getting used to it after so long of dealing with Shane’s antics. He eggs Sam on. Sam goes along with it. It’s routine.
“I’m going to look around,” I say.
He waves a hand mindlessly behind him, giving me the okay though he probably doesn’t even know what he’s approving. He’ll come looking for me soon enough. “Stay close,” is all he says.
Not likely. I guarantee he won't even notice how far I’ve wandered until he needs to show off his “trophy” again.
I slowly slip away until the crowd fills in behind Sam and Shane. I look around. There’s a group of people sitting on an old, yellow, floral couch and a few other dull brown recliners. A large gray bin sits in the middle of the circle. Slices of fruit float at the top of the dark blue liquid as if that will help make it look more appetizing. A girl in a much too-small mini dress leans forward, revealing everything she has, dips her empty cup into the liquid, quickly fills it, and pulls it out. She wipes the sides with a towel and takes a long sip seeming to savor the taste.
“This shit is sooo good,” she says with a slight slur. At this point, she could have had one cup or four. There’s no way to tell how strong it is.
Another guy walks up, opens a full bottle of clear liquor—vodka maybe?—and dumps it into the bin. “I brought more!” he shouts, smiling big when the cheers follow his presentation of alcohol. Once that bottle is empty, he opens a jug of orange juice and empties that as well. At least it’s not a hundred percent alcohol.
“Can I get a cup?” I ask, walking to the group. I’m going to need some liquid courage if I have to deal with Sam and his friends all night.
“Of course!” another girl pipes up, smiling brightly. She stands, dunks a new cup, and hands it to me after wiping it off.
I take a tentative sip of the homemade elixir and, realizing I like the taste of it just as much as last year, I down the first cup. My dad's voice plays in my head again, but I push it away. Live a little. “One more?” I ask, offering the same girl my cup again. Everyone around the circle raises their eyebrows but no one says anything about my sudden desire to forget the night, even if only a little.
The girl takes my cup and dunks it again. “Hell yeah,” she says, passing it back to me. “I love your top, by the way. You should join us!” she offers, patting the empty spot next to her.
I can almost see the dust plume off with each pat. “I’m okay. Thanks.” I hold up my cup to acknowledge my gratitude. The steps creak with each step I take back down to the first floor. They are barely standing room only, but I squeeze my way through anyway. Almost every couple’s faces are practically glued together as I pass. I don’t have any idea where I’m going, but as I arrive back on the first floor, I weave my way around looking from room to room.
The living room is lively with people mingling on the old brown sofas. The gas fireplace is the only light source illuminating the room aside from some light filtering in from the kitchen. Loud rap music sounds from the speakers on the mantle, but no one seems to be paying any attention to it.
Excited chanting from the kitchen catches my attention. When I peek my head around the corner, I see two guys simultaneously drinking from bottles of booze. “Chug! Chug! Chug!” Shouting in time with fists pumping in the air takes over the tiny space. One of them finishes the bottle and everyone breaks out in cheers. He slams the empty bottle on the counter and lets out a long belch. Pats on his back and girls kissing his cheeks make his drunken smile grow large, clearly proud of himself. The other guy pours shots from his half-empty bottle and passes them around. One ends up in my hands and I allow the warm amber liquid to burn down the back of my throat. I force my face neutral to not draw any attention to myself. I quickly chase it with the rest of my drink, emptying my cup.
When I check my phone, I realize more time has passed than I thought. I should go check in with Sam. I don’t need him to get any more upset today. I’m counting down the minutes until I have an entire two weeks to myself. Well, mostly to myself. Who knows how he’ll check in on me while he’s gone?
The crowd upstairs has somehow grown. I’m not sure how many more people can fit up here but sure enough, another group of girls in skimpy clothing shove their way to the jungle juice. A quick glance around the room makes my head spin and my limbs warm as I maneuver to brace myself against the edge of the dusty couch. The alcohol is finally kicking in. Took long enough.
Zoning in on the juice, I dip my cup again and take a long sip. The scent of the fruit fills my nose, but it’s cut off by the burn of what seems to be more vodka than my last cup. My gaze shifts up to the group gathered around the juice when I recognize the blonde locks turned away from me. It takes me a minute to realize that he’s making out with the girl who gave me the drink earlier.
I blink a few times, taking in the scene before me. Someone on the opposite couch clears his throat and the guy pulls away from the girl. He turns around, eyes meeting mine, and hangs his head. Of course, it’s none other than Sam. But he doesn’t seem sad that he’s been caught. He seems annoyed. He rolls his eyes as he stands up to move in my direction.
“Abby,” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
My legs carry me down the stairs, back to the main floor before my mind seems to catch up. My cheeks are hot, and I can only imagine how red they might be. The pounding of my heart sounds in my ears, matching the heavy bass of the music. I taste the salt in my mouth before I realize tears coat my cheeks. A few faces look my way, but everyone stays silent. A girl nearby offers a tissue, and I rip it out of her hand before turning to find a bathroom. I do not want to be here right now, but I don’t know how I’m going to get home.
As soon as I turn around, someone bumps into my shoulder causing the room-temperature concoction in my hand to spill all over me. “Shit,” I mumble through sniffles.
“Oh my God, sorry. I was not watching where I was going. Let me help you,” a male’s voice apologizes.
When I look up to see the culprit that caused this mess, familiar light brown eyes meet my gaze although, with my hazy mind, I can’t remember where I’ve seen him before. He’s much taller than me. His caramel brown hair is longer on top, slightly gelled in place, but the sides are shaved short. He hands me a paper towel, from where I have no idea.
“Drinking will do that to you,” I say, annoyance clear in my tone. I should not be taking my anger out on this poor guy. He didn’t mean to bump into me. Taking a deep breath, I wander away to find the bathroom.
The line is ridiculously long but I decide to take a spot anyway. I just need a quiet place to gather myself before I can walk home. My balance wavers a little and I slightly bump into the girl in front of me. She’s taller than me due to the white stilettos she wears with a short, tight pink dress. She peeks over her shoulder, looking me up and down. She looks at the spill on my jeans and smirks. “Walk much?”
I roll my eyes, still wiping my pants with the wet paper towel as if that’s really going to do anything more at this point. I jump when someone taps my shoulder. Behind me stands the same man who bumped into me.
“Sorry. I’m making a terrible impression of myself. I can show you where another bathroom is that no one uses.”
“Does this little trick work for most girls?” I raise my brows as I look up at him, hoping he doesn’t notice how puffy my eyes are.
He backs away slightly, raising both hands in defense. “I’m just trying to help. You don’t have to take it. Just thought I would offer.”
I take a deep breath, check if the line has moved at all, and look down at my damp clothes. I force the knot in my throat down before answering, hoping my voice sounds steady. “All right, I’ll bite. Where’s this bathroom.”
He leads me up to the second floor. The bedroom door he stops in front of is closed with a piece of notebook paper taped to the front of it that reads in big, red block letters “DO NOT ENTER.” Right. Because that’s going to keep a bunch of horny college kids from entering. He pushes the door open anyway. A couple sits on the unmade bed making out.
“Out,” he says lazily, still walking his way through the room to an en-suite bathroom on the right wall. They quickly scramble from the room, pulling shirts and skirts down as they go.
I hesitate as I step into the cluttered bedroom. “Do you live here?” I ask, looking around at the mess of clothes scattering the floor. The desk on the left wall is covered in dishes and wrappers. I force myself closer to the bathroom, stepping over a stack of textbooks, while he searches the cabinet under the sink for something.
“No. The guy who lives here is a close friend.” He passes me a blue hand towel and sits on the edge of the tub. The blue and green shower curtain is pulled to the side revealing a three-in-one bottle of soap. Typical.
Finally stepping into the bathroom, I dab the towel onto my pants to soak up the contents of my drink. When I wet the edge of the towel to wipe off a sticky spot on my arm, he decides to chime in.
“I’m Dallas by the way. Also, I don’t drink. I’m not drunk. It was an honest mistake. This house is really crowded.”
“A college guy who doesn’t drink. That’s a new one.” I glance up. He’s watching me intently, a slight smile gracing his lips. That stare makes me pause. It’s not unsettling. He seems curious, probably wondering why I’ve been crying. He scratches the back of his head, revealing a thick bicep. Dark black lines of a tattoo peek out from under his white T-shirt sleeve, but I can’t quite make out what it is.
Focus.
I concentrate on cleaning my pants. “Sorry for jumping to conclusions. I didn’t come here in the best mood, and I just caught my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend now? I don’t know—cheating on me, so I guess I’m taking it out on everyone else.” Jeez, Abby. Why not reveal your whole life story to this stranger? I’m not sure why, but I feel oddly comfortable around him, enough to blab my mouth to him, too, apparently. Must be the alcohol.
I turn back to the sink to wash my hands when I realize I never returned the introduction. “Oh, and I’m Abby. Thanks for this,” I say, gesturing widely to the whole bathroom.
“Sure thing, but that really sucks. I’m sorry. The guys at this school are all douchebags.”
“Clearly.”
He chuckles. “Ouch.”
The corner of my mouth ticks up for a moment as I hold back a giggle. “Well, you could be. I don’t know you. Plus, you did say all the guys. So, unless you don’t go here, that includes you.” I turn around to see his reaction and lean my butt against the sink. I fold my arms over my chest, willing my racing heart to slow. Why is it beating so fast?
“Okay, fair.” He smiles fully this time, a tight grip holding the edge of the tub. “I can go beat some ass if I need to. Just point him out.” He raises his clenched fists and punches the air a few times.
“You walked right into that one. And God, no. I really don’t need any more reason for him to—” but I stop short before I say what I was going to say. I turn back to the sink, swallowing the knot in my throat. The heat rising in my cheeks returns as memories flood in. That’s when I notice the makeup on my wrist is mostly gone. I didn’t even think about the bruise when I was cleaning myself up. I clamp a hand over my wrist, hoping it hasn’t been noticeable this entire time.
“Hey,” he says in a calm tone. He squats down next to the sink, a hand braced next to my hip on the porcelain. He looks up at my downturned face, searching for my eyes. I chance a look down at him. He’s concerned. He looks between my eyes as if he’s trying to find answers or the right words. “I don’t know what all happened between you two, but he’s not worth it. That’s not to say you don’t have every right to cry and scream, but don’t waste another minute on this guy.”
He sounds like Meredith. I would love to call her and tell her everything, but she’s just going to say “I told you so” before trying to convince me I was wrong about him all along. For some reason, though, I want to listen to him. Maybe because he hasn’t been telling me this for almost the entire duration of Sam and I’s relationship. But he’s being so kind and genuine that I feel like I could let him in on everything I’ve been feeling, on all the abuse I’ve been taking, on the absolute wreck that is my life, especially now. Nope. That’s the alcohol talking, for sure.
I quit my job. How am I supposed to support myself now? Am I really breaking up with Sam? Would he let me break up with him? Maybe he’s been wanting to break up for a while and this gave him the right excuse. What have I done so wrong that he felt the need to find someone else?
“Thanks,” is all I can muster. I wipe the tears from my waterline, pulling off some black eyeliner in the process.
Dallas sighs before standing up and moving back to the edge of the tub. “Anything I can do? I know we just met, but if I can help, I will.”
“I don’t think so. I just need to figure out what I’m doing with my life.” I hang my head as I lean against the sink again. “I’m going to go get another drink. I’m way too sober for this shit.”
He stands up and pauses as if contemplating what to say when his phone starts ringing. “Okay. Go get that drink. Maybe I’ll see you around.” He waves his phone in the air signaling that he has to take the call and leaves me there in silence. Good to know there is still one good guy in this world, I guess.
I dry my hands and cheeks with the towel and grab my drink before carefully making my way back out through the bedroom, bracing myself on anything I can find, in search of something, anything, to rid me of my memories from tonight. There’s no way in hell I am going back up for more jungle juice. Sam may very well be sucking on some other chick’s face again. He’s nowhere to be seen down here.
I make my way to the kitchen where I remember seeing an assortment of liquor earlier. Please still be there. Who am I kidding? This is a college party. Of course, it will still be there. On the small center island sits more bottles of liquor than I can count, most of them open already. Without thinking, I grab the first one in front of me, take a long swig from the bottle—the taste is not pleasant—and pour what I think is at least two shots worth into my cup. I check the label. Jim Beam. I can already feel the hangover tomorrow, but after what I saw upstairs, a hangover is the last thing stopping me from drinking tonight. I grab an open two-liter of Coke and add it to my cup.
I peer over the rim of my cup, taking in the old, orange, 90s wood-stained cabinets and the once white, now pale-yellow, sun-stained vinyl countertops. There are a lot of people standing along the outer counter. No one I recognize, though. One of the hardest parts about going to the parties Sam gets invited to is not knowing anyone. Then again, it’s also a bit of a perk that no one knows me. Especially tonight. With Meredith being my closest friend, who am I kidding, my only friend, I don’t get out much. We both work a lot, and she spends most of her free time in the art studio.
A girl in a yellow sun dress sits casually on the counter with a guy braced between her thighs. In the hallway to the living room, a couple stands groping each other rather obscenely. I wander through the first floor, taking in each room. Nothing has been updated since the early 2000s. The dirty beige carpet, floral wallpaper, and trying-to-be-trendy, turquoise-painted wood furniture scream for help. Who decorated this place?
My drink seems to quickly finish itself. Refill after refill and I slowly start to lose my sense of balance. And time for that matter. I have no idea how long I’ve been wandering around. I brace myself on whatever is closest as I meander out the back door into the backyard. A bonfire lights up a section of the yard. Off-key chords of a guitar reverberate between the house and a small above-ground pool where a few students run naked to the edge and jump in.
Skinny dipping could be fun.
And I’m tired of being Sam’s toy. It’s time I do something for myself. I deserve some fun tonight.
I chug the last of my drink, fill it up at the keg on the porch, and slowly make my way down the stairs toward the pool. No one seems to notice that I’m clutching the handrail with everything I’ve got. As I hit the bottom step, my drink sloshes onto my shirt.
“Not again,” I mumble to myself.
“I could help you with that.” A guy leaning against the opposite rail winks at me.
“I’m good,” I attempt to say, but I think it comes out as more of a slur. My hearing is so muffled that I can barely hear my own voice.
“You sure? Wouldn’t take long. I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, pushing off from his position.
I focus on my words before speaking, but it doesn’t help. “Pos’tive,” I say, holding my palm out to him. It lands on his chest, and I quickly pull away, giving him the middle finger.
A breathy laugh sounds from his chest. “Suit yourself.” He moves towards the pool to join the crowd that has gathered to gawk at the girls swimming naked through the water.
Whoops and hollers sound from the middle of the pool where a girl sits on a guy’s shoulders, playing chicken with another girl. Both girls' bikinis leave nothing up to the imagination.
The pool is surrounded by a small deck with a staircase leading up to another level. The small lights on each stair do little to help the weathered boards that make for an uneven hike to the top. A few nails pop out of the wood, and I trip on one at the top step. A guy catches me, holding my arm until I’ve braced myself upright.
“Thanks,” I mumble. My once full cup now lies empty on the deck, a puddle of beer next to it. I look at the pool, pausing a moment when the water seems to spin like a whirlpool in front of me. I look back to the house, through the third-floor window to see if Sam might be watching. Not seeing him, I start taking my pants off. Maybe it’s time I teach Sam a lesson.
“We’ve got another one!” a guy yells from inside the pool.
Everyone cheers as my top comes off. Somehow, I manage to hold on to what little dignity I have left and keep my underwear on. Fuck it. Before I know it, I’m in the air above the water. Time moves in slow motion as I form myself into a ball, bracing for impact.
I draw in a sharp breath when my butt hits the water. Thank God for heated pools. My feet hit the bottom quickly and I spring up and out of the water. Loud cheers sound around me as I take another breath. I wipe the water from my eyes and black makeup coats the edges of my fingers.
Through the cheers, I hear someone say, “Dude, isn’t that Sam’s girl?”
My heart seems to stop when I look to see who said that. Sure enough, one of Sam’s friends, Jordan, holds a fist over his open mouth in pure shock.
“Someone go grab Sam. His girl is out of control!” But Jordan doesn’t seem serious about this comment. He’s amused. He breaks out laughing. “Take it all off, baby!” he yells.
Fuck Sam. I’m over it. I throw my hands up over my head with a “Whoop, whoop!” A few join in on my cheering and someone offers me a drink. I chug the smooth, sweet liquid before crushing the cup and throwing it over the railing of the deck. The music continues but seems almost mute. My ears ring a little, but I can feel the bass from the music in my bones. Suddenly, I’m sitting on top of Jordan's shoulders. He grabs my thighs with a tight grip as if he’s claiming me for himself.
The fun doesn’t last long. A strong grip on my arm practically rips me out of the pool. The bellow of Sam’s voice seems to echo loudly in my ears. “What in the actual fuck is going on here?”
Thankfully, the alcohol has done its job, and I can’t feel Sam’s harsh hand. “Let go of me!” I yell at him, but he ignores my command.
“Put your damn clothes on, Abby,” Sam snaps as he shoves them at my torso. “Jordan, get out.”
The hiss of his voice is enough to make Jordan listen. “We were just having a little fun,” Jordan says, stepping out of the pool with his hands up. “Really. Nothing more.”
The sound of cracking cartilage hits my ears before the blood from Jordan’s nose splatters on my foot and the deck. He falls backward onto his butt, one hand bracing his fall and the other holding his nose.
“Fuck, dude!” he yells, muffled through his hand.
“If I ever see or hear that you touched my girl again, I’ll break more than your nose,” Sam hisses. He spits, forcing it to land just in front of Jordan.
My pants aren’t buttoned, nor is my shirt fully tied when Sam drags me down the pool deck, through the house, and out the front door, a tight grip on my bicep. I stumble the whole way, trying to keep my balance and still process what just happened through the fog of alcohol.
When we reach the bottom of the front steps, I wrap my hand around the handrail and put my brakes on, digging my heels into the dewy grass as much as I can. “Stop, Sam! Stop, please,” I beg.
I’m not sure if the rage blinds him from the crowd of people out front but still, he yells, “No!” He twists around, pulls me away from the railing, and connects the back of his hand with the still-damp flesh of my cheek.