Chapter Fourteen #2
“I can’t make someone like me!” I insist.
“Don’t give me that bullshit! You’re young, successful, and handsome. Someone likes you. What is this really?”
I say nothing. I should have known he’d sniff me out—he’s very smart, after all.
“I just haven’t had any luck, Dad,” I finally whisper.
He sneers. “Luck? Bull-fucking-shit. I’m starting to think this has nothing to do with being liked and everything to do with you.”
We stare at each other. Maybe it’s a test of endurance or strength, this staring contest, but probably just him intimidating me.
“I’m sorry.” I have nothing left to say, so I set my glass down and stand to leave.
“Are you gay, Everett?”
I freeze.
“What?” My voice is a quiet, startled thing. All fear and nausea.
“You better not be a queer,” he adds. “I swear to you that I’ll beat it straight out of you. You can’t bring that shame onto your family.”
Mixing Tequila and Brandy might have been a bad idea. This ache where the love that comes from a family is supposed to sit is so hot and bright, so all-encompassing and raw, that it angers me. It brings out something primal and animalistic from somewhere buried deep inside.
I want to scream. I want to bottle up this hatred and use it to remind myself in the future, every time I doubt myself, that this isn’t right and it isn’t normal and I need to get away.
And instead, because that is not something I can do, I turn to look down at my adoptive father and say, “Family? Do families hit each other? Are fathers supposed to terrify their sons? Are mothers supposed to look down on their children in disgust? Am I supposed to wonder if my parents even like me? I don’t think so. ”
Ash’s eyes widen in surprise. “Everett—”
“And so what? Even if I was gay, so what? No one cares. No one but you. It’s sad—I succeed at everything you ask of me. Everything. Not wanting a girlfriend is the last thing a parent should be so angry about, yet here we are. I’d rather be gay than be anything like you, Ash Carmichael.”
It feels good to say. I think Ashley would be proud of me—I’m proud of me.
But pride and fear and pain can all live side by side, and I know this for a fact as Ash’s fists slam into me, over and over again. I’m not sure where one punch ends and the next begins, but he has me by my collar, and I’m guarding my head for the life of me.
“Ungrateful brat!” he screams, and as he tires, he lets me fall to the ground. “You will do as I say. And if I hear any more of this family bullshit, or this nonsense about you being gay, you will pay for it.”
He turns, stomping toward his bedroom with all peace wiped away. I see Felicita in the doorway, glaring straight at me. A moment later, she follows him out.
I’m too drunk to drive, so after I clean myself up—taking in the scattered bruises and my busted cheek—I Uber toward Skylar’s apartment.
I need to breathe. I need him.
As I load into the rented car, I dial his number.
He picks up on the fourth ring, saying, “Hello?”
“Are you home?” I can hear the music in the background, so I know he’s not. Someone’s laughing.
“What do you want?” He sounds tired, like just talking to me is exhausting him.
“Please, I need to talk to you.”
“I’m busy right now.”
“Doing what?” I have to sound desperate, but I don’t care. I need my best friend.
“Drinking. Evie, just go home.”
The line goes dead.
I turn to the Uber driver and say, “Take me to Seabird, please.”
I know Skylar said he was out drinking; what I didn’t know was that he’d be here with him.
They’re standing at a table with a few of Jacob’s football friends, laughing and taking shots. Henry and Kelly are here too.
And Skylar looks amazing in his dark blue jeans and pink shirt, a jean jacket over top. His brown curls fall around his forehead, bouncing as he whips around to shove Henry for whatever it is he’s just said.
He looks happy, like he’s finally able to breathe without me.
And I’m considering leaving. I really, really am. Why wouldn’t I when he’s so at peace and beautiful here without me? I am destruction and terror and pain; I am unfair and cruel.
But then Jacob leans over and whispers in his ear, fingers gently sweeping over the band of Skylar’s jeans. Skylar flushes, nodding softly at whatever he’s saying.
And that ugly thing that lives inside of me now, whatever it is in me that wants to destroy my surroundings and count casualties when it comes to him, it keeps me here. In fact, it spurs me on.
I’m in front of Skylar in seconds, and it’s now that I’m realizing I’m far drunker than I originally thought.
“Fuck,” I hear Kelly whisper as she lodges herself between Jacob and Skylar. Damage control, I guess.
“Skylar.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own; it sounds too loud.
Those big blue eyes meet mine, and they widen, taking me in. He reaches for me on instinct before flinching away.
I wonder what I look like; what mess I’ve conjured throughout the night—how badly Ash really got to me.
“Evie,” he breathes out, like he thinks I might be unreal. Like he’s dreaming.
“Let’s go home,” I tell him. It can be this easy, right?
“He’s on a date, man,” Jacob interjects, ever the smooth talker.
I pay him no mind, repeating, “Let’s go home.”
Skylar looks between Jacob and me, eyes bouncing around.
“Sky, he’s drunk. Take him home.” It’s Kelly talking, her hand on Jacob’s arm.
“Yeah, he looks fucked up,” Henry chips in, most likely commenting more on the wounds than my consumption.
Skylar nods once, turning his gaze from mine to Jacob. I feel the loss like it’s a physical thing.
“Sorry, I need to get Everett home,” he says. “He’s not doing well. Can we catch up another time?”
I turn my attention to Jacob as well, seeing his disappointment as he mutters out, “For real?”
Skylar tilts his head at the question. “For real what? He needs to go home. I’ll text you.”
As Skylar rounds the table and grabs my arm, I can’t help but give Jacob a smug grin that reads, he chose me, bitch!
Skylar pulls me toward the exit, mumbling, “Stop gloating, Evie.”
But I can’t help it; I keep grinning anyway.
We Uber back to his apartment—he’s been drinking too, and Kelly drove them.
The drive is silent and tense, the air around us moving into my lungs and back out, only to filter straight into his. It’s a vicious cycle, and a dangerous need begins to build inside of me every moment that I sit so close to him—every moment that it feels as if he cares.
Once we get home, he drags my drunk ass up the stairs, only stumbling slightly over his own feet. The front door unlocks, and as we step inside, he drops to his knees in front of me to take off my shoes.
I know I’ve stopped breathing; I can feel it. Or the lack of it, I guess. And Skylar can feel it too, those curious eyes staring up at me as I try to make sense of his expression.
Eventually he looks away, standing up to pull me into his bedroom and dump me onto the mattress.
“Sleep. If you need to throw up, do it in the bathroom. You can clean yourself up tomorrow.” He must be talking about the marks Ash left on me—little gifts littering my skin.
“Little puppy,” I call out as he turns to leave, his back tensing, the lean muscles outlined beautifully in his pink shirt.
Somewhere, somehow, he lost the jean jacket. It’s a shame; I really liked it.
“Go to sleep, Evie.” Skylar sounds like he’s pleading, and he hardly ever pleads. Just as he hardly ever cries, yet I watched him do that too the last time I was here, in his bedroom.
My vicious little viper, my sweet little puppy. Oh, how I’ve missed him.
“Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me to face this alone.” I know it’s a selfish request.
I know I’m a horrible, fucked up person. But tonight has been miserable; this life has turned into a wretched thing, and I just need him. I need his voice and his warmth and his hands on me.
If tomorrow comes and he still hates me, demanding that I leave him, then I will accept my defeat. I will bow out of his life gracefully. But for now, fuck, I need him.
I need him like I need air, like I need water, like I need the ground I walk on and the God I would pray to if only I could believe in one.
Skylar turns to face me, his expression crestfallen and hopeless—so hopeless.
I’m winning this fight. It’s bloody and brutal, and we’re both so wounded, but I’m winning. When will I learn what it has cost me?
He climbs into the bed next to me, leaning over my body to study the marks there. I feel the warmth of his fingertips as they trace over my face—so gentle and sweet I hardly feel the sting as they catch the cut on my cheek.
“Who did this?” he asks.
As I open my mouth to lie, I think of Ashley on my bed, her forehead pressed to mine, and it closes on its own.
Maybe it’s time I start telling the truth. Maybe it’s the only way for him to forgive me, for him to accept me again.
I swallow harshly. “Ash.”
Skylar’s eyes widen. “That fucking bitch. Where is she? I’ll put Kelly on her so fast—”
“No.” I can’t help the chuckle that leaves me. “Not Ashley. Ash—my father.”
I watch Skylar’s expression shift from blank to completely confused.
“Huh? He… Your dad?” he asks, and I nod, saying nothing more. The realization seems to dawn on him. “Has he… has he been doing this to you? Every time you have an accident?”
He air-quotes accident as if telling me he never once believed a lie I told, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised.
And he looks so beautiful like this—when he looks at me like he cares.
“Yeah.” My voice is a whisper; a shameful secret is being passed between us. “He’s not very nice.”
Skylar watches me for a moment, his fingers never letting up, forever caressing me. “That’s why you never asked me to come over… Fuck, Evie. I-I don’t know what to say. Why? What’s his problem?”
“This time it’s because I don’t want a girlfriend,” I explain. “Other times, well, it depends on the situation. He’s a hit-first, talk-later kind of man.”
A storm cloud passes over his features, and it doesn’t leave; it makes itself a home there in those blue eyes, over those pillowy lips.