22. Deja Vu
Chapter twenty-two
Deja Vu
DELANE
“Hey!”
I jumped when books were slammed down in front of my face. Crap. I had successfully avoided Chelsea for the first half of the day, but now that my lunch break came around, I was caught.
“I have been trying to track you down, for like, two whole days!” She hollered, ripping the chair out from opposite of me and sitting down. “You haven’t even answered my calls! And you’re such a grandma—you’d think you’d answer a phone call.”
“Chelsea,” I sighed, ignoring the irony of her insult. She was the one who couldn’t answer the damn phone when push came to shove. “What do you want?”
She licked her lips and flashed a wicked smile. “Details, bitch.”
I shook my head. “I already told you. It wasn’t what you thought, and it is definitely not worth telling you. Trust me. You’ll grow bored.”
Please, just drop the whole thing. I still don’t want to talk to you about it, anyways.
I resisted the urge to get up and walk away from her. Part of that night still felt like a betrayal of our friendship, and I didn’t know how to express that to her without needing to reveal the entirety of what happened to me.
Chelsea scowled. “Fine. Be that way. I don’t care anymore.” She smirked. “Because I have news to tell you.”
I took a bite of my sandwich and ushered her on, happy that I finally succeeded in getting her to forget about my night from hell.
“I met the hottest guy.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “And I mean the hottest guy in the world.”
I shrugged. “Where?”
“Here. Isn’t that cool? But he hasn’t been here for a couple of days so maybe he’s out of town or something. He like, just got here though.”
“Well, what’s his name?” I questioned with slight annoyance, reaching for my tea.
Chelsea giggled. “That’s the cool part!” She leaned in as if this was the greatest secret of all time. “He’s a Hansen.”
I choked, sweet tea nearly becoming the first two words of my epitaph. “Excuse me?”
“Oh my God, Delane, literally wipe your mouth and get a hold of yourself. Anyway! There’s a member of the Hansen family, going to our college! Can you believe it?” Chelsea squealed. “And I’m going to be the first to get in his pants.”
“Does he have a name?” I was practically yelling by now, already on my feet.
Don’t say it, don’t say it.
It could be ANY other name in the world.
“His name is Noah. Isn’t that hot?”
I felt faint.
She said it.
NOAH
“What’s your name?” I asked, kicking up some dust with my foot.
I was seven.
Life as I knew it was almost perfect.
“Silas Thorne. I’m not supposed to talk to you.” He spoke very meekly for someone who was four years older than me.
“Well, why not? We can’t be friends?” I questioned, wondering why this kid wanted nothing to do with me.
“You’re a Hansen. I’m a Thorne. We’re technically rivals.” On the word, “rivals”, Silas held more determination in his voice, placing his hands on his hips and puffing his chest.
“Just go home,” he ordered me.
I put my hands in my jean pockets nervously. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m lost...”
Silas sighed. “Ugh. Great.”
His hand outstretched.
“I will walk you home.”
I laid in bed all day, as usual, recalling the events of the past. They played before my mind like a bad film. No matter how much I tried to push them away, they always seemed to claw back into my thoughts, torturing me.
I hated remembering my childhood.
More than ever, I detested the way my tears fell. I felt like that lonely boy again, helpless and pulled away from the imaginary, perfect world that all kids seem to love and thrive in. Instead, I was constantly living in a nightmare. The misery was continuous, whether I was asleep or not.
The cravings were still there. But without my joints or drinks, I was more focused on experiencing the feelings that assaulted my body.
Which was fucking gross. And complicated.
The aftereffects of losing my source of pleasure were causing me to hate myself. More so than I already did.
I was never going to be a happy little soul.
I was never going to understand the true meaning of love…
…or innocence.
The word virtue, much like the word “father”, meant nothing to me.
I heard it, I laughed. No one, not even Damian or Alex, could ever understand the pain I endured every single day.
It was my curse to live with, knowing that I could never love someone.
I wasn’t capable of it. I just wanted what I could get my hands on, something that could make me feel.
Pain or pleasure, it didn’t matter. I craved the presence of another, for the warmth of another human body.
It fed my delusion that I wasn’t alone, even though in my heart and mind, I knew the truth.
I was utterly alone.
When I was with someone, I could fight through my past, concentrate on desire. I was no longer locked in that dark little room. I wanted to hurt, on my own terms.
Hell, I want to bleed. I can take it.
Since the day the abuse started, this mindset was ingrained in my mind. My body was an object that many wanted, so I ensured it was used for its intended purpose. It gave me some disturbed pleasure knowing that others wanted me, and that on any given day I could reel in whomever I pleased.
Fuck, smoke and drink. This would keep the sickness away.
Fuck, smoke, drink, repeat.
I remembered the day when my crazy cycle finally started to feel normal.
I had just had sex with a woman I found in a club, and before my body could even begin to register the actions, I picked up a half empty bottle of Bacardi and downed it.
The sickness never came. The guilt never came. All caring just… ceased.
So, I drank more. And when the alcohol poisoning stopped helping, I bought weed.
And crack.
I smoked the drugs and was surprised to find that I couldn’t even remember the sexual acts anymore. I’d wake up not knowing the person’s name, send them on their merry way, and then drink until I crashed out on my bed.
I hadn’t realized my addiction had gotten that bad.
Until now.
My tears finally stopped, the streaks on my cheeks leaving my face cold.
I rose from the bed, determined to leave the house despite the bed sheets clinging to my skin.
The walls of my room felt closer than before, like they were leaning in, pressing against my chest with invisible hands.
The air was stale and thick, too thick to breathe. I wanted out. Now.
As I descended the stairs, the anger I held for my life sat heavy in my gut.
Everything I had planned had unraveled before my eyes.
This mess I’d created was now tangled up with bits of college, the looming possibility of rehab, and then there was...
nothing. Just a blank space I didn’t care enough to fill.
Or maybe…
Delane?
For some reason, her face kept popping into my mind. She looked disappointed in me. I couldn’t help but wonder why I cared so much.
DELANE
Maybe the name was common?
I wanted to slap myself when I entered the house, locking the door securely behind my arrival. How could this happen to me? Was my luck this bad?
I was trying to forget about the Hansen’s. I wanted to banish the memory of them forever, but how was I supposed to do that when one: My best friend was hitting on the man I was told to stay away from, and two: That very same man was already taking classes at my school?
This is ridiculous, I told myself.
But there has to be something you can do.
It took all of my will power to hold back the emotional breakdown I almost had in front of Chelsea at the school. I had almost spilled everything, and if Chelsea found out about the whole deal, she would create a huge fuss, demanding that I be reunited with my “hero”.
That was the last thing I needed right now.
I plopped down on my bed, shielding my face with a pillow.
This was a gigantic mess.