HE’S DRUNK.
Belligerently drunk, more whiskey running through his veins than blood.
The smell of it overwhelms me as I haul my boyfriend into the car, almost crushing myself in the process, sighing in relief when I get him situated and shut the passenger door behind him. I hate driving but tonight, I’m glad I took on the role of designated driver; Dylan has a habit of not recognizing his own intoxication and he doesn’t like to be told no.
Muttering a few choice words about brainless, childish boyfriends who can’t hold their liquor, I dash to the driver’s side and slip into the car, my hands shaking as I fumble to fit the keys into the ignition. It’s colder than it usually is this time of year, a chill in the air that my minuscule outfit doesn’t agree with; the short dress with very little material Dylan begged me to wear does nothing to ward off the cold.
A suit jacket tucked around my shoulders would’ve made all the difference but alas, add thoughtless to my long list of grievances with my boyfriend tonight. I should know by now that chivalry is off the cards when he’s wasted.
I should know by now that chivalry is off the cards when he’s sober most of the time.
The drunk oaf occupying the seat beside me slaps my hand away when I try to turn the radio on so the drive to his place passes in relative silence, a weird tension in the air. We were supposed to stay in mine tonight, and I prefer that a million times more than spending the night surrounded by Dylan’s stand-offish roommates, but there’s no way I’m subjecting Luna and Kate to his drunkenness—bad roommate etiquette.
“You need help getting inside, babe?” I ask softly as I pull into his drive, reaching over to rest a hand on one of his hunched shoulders. The minute I make contact, he’s shucking me off. Hazy, unfocused blue eyes snap to mine, an anger in them that matches the scowl contorting his features, and I recoil at the ferocity. “What’s wrong?”
“I saw how you were looking at him,” he snaps, the words slurred and senseless.
“What?”
“Don’t act stupid.” In one jerky movement, he undoes his seatbelt and turns awkwardly to face me, leaning in too close. “You were flirting with him all night and you know it.”
My head snaps back in shock, the crown smacking against the window behind me. Dylan wastes no time filling the space I created between us, his large frame suffocating my smaller one even in a car with not much room for intimidation. “Dylan, I wasn’t flirting with anyone.”
“Bullshit.” He’s seething, face red for reasons beyond alcohol levels. “I take you somewhere nice, treat you well, and this is how you repay me?”
Somewhere nice.
The circumstances don’t call for it yet still, I resist the urge to laugh.
Dylan’s definition of ‘somewhere nice’ greatly differs from mine. His version involves a function organized by one of his lecturers as a way to meet potential employers. His ‘somewhere nice’ was a stuffy room filled with stuffier people, none of whom I knew, not the romantic date night his accusations make it sound.
“Babe,” I keep my voice calm and steady, knowing how he gets when he’s drunk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. The only person I talked to tonight was you.”
Even that’s a stretch; I neglect to mention that most of my night was spent lurking on the sidelines watching him schmooze and charm. Any talking I did wasn’t talking at all. It was smiling and looking pretty and letting myself be toted around like a trophy wife. The closest thing to stimulating conversation I had was with the waiter who dropped off our flavorless food.
His disbelief as evident as his anger, Dylan scoffs and draws away, clumsily opening the passenger door before slamming it shut behind him. “Dyl, come on.” With a sigh, I elbow open my door and start to get out too. He’s in a mood, I tell myself. He’ll get over it in the morning.
I’m halfway out of the car, hovering in an awkward half-standing position when my vision suddenly goes black. Searing pain ricochets through the side of my face, confusion clouding my senses as I totter unsteadily on too-high heels. It feels like forever passes before I realize that the sharp sting, the hot stickiness dripping from what I assume is a gash on my temple, is a result of the car door slamming into me, catching me at a weird angle and biting into my skin. I’ve barely come to that conclusion before it happens again, harder this time, hard enough to knock me off-balance and cause the bank of my head to rebound off the roof of the car. Stars float behind my eyes, robbing me of my sight and the ability to think.
Blinking rapidly, the dark spots in my vision recede enough so I can make out Dylan standing in front of me, one large hand gripping the car door so tightly his knuckles turning white, his face hard and uncaring. With a shaky hand, I touch the throbbing spot on the crown of my head, staring in disbelief at my fingertips when they come away bloody. “Did you…” I start and finish, my throat tight. “Was that an accident?”
Dylan doesn’t respond. All he does is stare, not a single regretful thought or emotion behind clear blue eyes, before spinning on his feet and storming into his apartment complex without another word.
I’m numb, working on autopilot as I shakily climb back into my car. I’m not sure how I make it back to my apartment in one piece, eyes blurring and the sickeningly familiar metallic taste of blood filling my mouth, but I do. It’s not until I stumble inside my apartment, until I’m greeted by the worried shrieks of my roommates, that it starts to sink in what the fuck just happened.
Silence follows the clumsy recollection of one of the worst nights of my life.
I fiddle with the corner of Cass’ duvet in an attempt to keep my nerves at bay, my gaze firmly fixed on my fingers as they trace the linear pattern of the navy material. I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath, anticipation seizing my lungs until Cass murmurs my name, one of his hands covers mine, and all the air leaves me in one big whoosh.
“I’m fine, okay?” I force myself to look at him, to smile. “It really wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“I-” He stops and starts the same sentence several times, never quite managing to finish it. I get it; I couldn’t form a coherent sentence for two days after the whole ordeal. That might’ve been because of the concussion, though. “When was this?”
“Uh, sometime in September.” September fourth, just shy of midnight, not that I’m keeping track of specifics.
September eighth, he came to my apartment. Days to ruminate on an apology he never made, not really. He cried his eyes out and begged for forgiveness but all the while, he was blaming me, the alcohol, that fucking dress with so much conviction, I started blaming myself too.
And how could I break up with him for something we both eventually deemed my fault?
“I know I shouldn’t have taken him back, okay?” I preemptively assure Cass, anticipating the lecture prepped on the tip of his tongue. “I know I made the wrong choice but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You could’ve told someone. Reported him.”
“Really, Cass? You really think that would’ve worked?” I can’t help but laugh. “What would my story have been? ‘Hey, officer, my model student boyfriend with a spotless record slammed a car door in my face. Evidence? Witnesses? No, I have none of that.’ All it would’ve taken was one denial on Dylan’s part and boom, case closed, I know it.”
“You had medical records,” Cass protests. “You went to the hospital.”
“Medical records that state I tripped and fell.” Because that’s what I told them. I said I’d have too much to drink and that combined with my heels led to my balance failing me. If it had been up to me I wouldn’t have even gone to the hospital; Kate and Luna dragged me there.
“Amelia-”
“No,” I cut Cass off firmly. I know I did the wrong thing in taking Dylan back, that I can admit to, but reporting him wasn’t an option, not then and not now. I was, I am, protecting myself. Nothing good would ever come from it; it would only make things worse. I want him to leave me alone and if I accuse him of something he’ll never be convicted of doing, he never will. “Please, stop.”
I can tell it physically hurts Cass to keep his mouth shut, to strangle the big brother urges begging him to intervene, to fix. Full lips press together in a grim, straight line, worry lines etched into his light brown skin. “I don’t like it, Mils.”
“You don’t have to like it.” I scoot closer, slipping my hand into his. “You have to trust me to deal with it on my own.”
With a heavy sigh, Cass slumps forward, resignation evident in his gaze as he angles his head towards me. “Fine.”
I wonder if he would relent so easily if he remembered my own personal brand of dealing is avoidance.
There’s a man outside my apartment.
I spot him through the windshield of my car when I park outside my building but it’s not until I reach the exterior walkway on my floor that I recognize who’s crouched beside my front door. “Nick?”
The man in question clambers to his feet as I approach, the jingle of my keys obnoxiously loud as I nervously toss them from one hand to the other. “Hey.”
“Hi.” My steps falter a few feet before I reach him. “What’re you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he lies with a wonky smile. “Thought I’d swing by.”
Squinting at him through suspicious eyes, I sigh. “You’re checking on me.” Nick scoffs indignantly but he doesn’t deny it. I sigh again—more of a groan, really—and edge past him to unlock the front door. “What, is it your shift? You were assigned the afternoon and Cass is gonna tag you out before dinner?”
“I’m pulling double duty, actually.” Nick’s teasing tone follows me into the apartment, his breath tickling the top of my head as he leans down to murmur, “And I volunteered.”
I don’t get a chance to retort; I’m too busy trying not to fall on my ass when I’m suddenly bombarded by a flurry of blonde hair and enveloped by a pair of tan, slender arms. I stumble back a step, knocking against a hard chest, and Nick rights me as Luna cries in my ear, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Amelia.”
It takes a moment to remember what my roommate has to apologize for. Even when I do, I don’t feel the same rush of anger that I did last night. Honestly, my emotions are spent—I don’t have it in me to be furious even though I have every right to be—and it’s my lack of energy that has me melting in Luna’s embrace.
“I’m so sorry,” my impulsive friend repeats, squeezing me tight enough to steal air. “I was angry and worried about you but that’s no excuse. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
“Agreed,” I murmur into the tresses trying to suffocate me. “It’s not okay but I forgive you.”
God, even if I had been angry, it wouldn’t have lasted long. It would’ve been wiped away by the laughter inspired when Luna peppers dramatic, smacking kisses all over my face. Over her shoulder, I spot Kate lounging on the sofa silently observing, lips pressed together like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Now that’s fixed,” she calls out as Luna releases me from her death grip, a smile that promises trouble lighting up both of their pretty faces. “What is Nick doing here?”
It briefly slipped my mind that Nick was even here but his presence becomes unignorable when he lays a hand on my shoulder, fingers grazing my collarbone while his thumb digs into my nape, inspiring warmth to emanate throughout my entire body. “I was craving the warm welcome you ladies always greet me with.”
White teeth glint as Kate adopts a remarkably shark-like, entirely fake grin. “If I’m less welcoming, will you go away?”
Unfazed, Nick grins right back. “Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen.”
“Your love life’s motto?”
“Claws in, Katie.” Flouncing towards the sofa, Luna drops down beside our friend, manicured fingers flicking her temple. “You’re gonna scare the nice man away.”
Kate hums thoughtfully. “Do you scare easily, Nicolas?”
Before he can answer—and God knows what kind of answer that would be—I nudge Nick in the direction of my bedroom, hot on his tail as he takes the hint. “Ignore them.” My eyes shoot daggers at my supposed friends. “I do.”
“Leave that door open, young lady!” Luna sings as we disappear down the hall, the command half yell, half cackle.
I slam it shut extra loud.
Leaving Nick and I alone in my bedroom.
God, does he look out of place in here.
Everything about my room, about our apartment in general, is small and Nick looks almost comical as he noses around, making all my belongings seem even tinier. For God’s sake, the plant pots lining my windowsill and desk look like Legos as he studies the array of greenery I’ve somehow managed to keep alive. He lingers on the patch of my wall covered with photos and posters and other trinkets collected over the years—I’ve got a thing for vintage postcards and movie ticket stubs—and he huffs a laugh when he gets to the pitiful stack of books tucked in the corner.
“I had a bookshelf.” My nose wrinkles as red flushes my cheek. “It broke.” Because Luna, Kate, and I built it dastardly incorrectly, I decline to add.
My bed—a small double that even I find puny at times—creaks under Nick’s bulking weight as he sits on the edge, smoothing his colossal hands over my bedsheets before really making himself comfortable. Kicking off his shoes, he scoots until his back hits the wall, crooking one leg and resting his forearm on his knee, the epitome of casual and comfortable. “Wanna watch a movie?”
Am I sweating? I think I might be sweating. Shifting awkwardly from one foot the other, I clear my throat. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“That’s great.” He blinks at me. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”
“Whatever you’re doing, you don’t have to.”
“Amelia.” Nick sighs my name, looking one step away from pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is it so hard to believe that I like spending time with you?”
Yeah. It kind of is. “You do?”
“No,” he deadpans. “I always spend three hours at the gym every single night. And I love the food at Greenies.”
Yeah, I’m definitely sweating. Blushing too. And a little shaky as I cross the room and clamber onto the bed, settling with as healthy a distance between us as I can maintain on the compact piece of furniture. As I set up my laptop—movie it is, I guess—I feel him watching me with that ever-present smirk I once found infuriating yet is starting to grow on me. I itch under the weight of his stare, my throat tight with the need to fill the loaded silence before it suffocates me. “I’m sorry I ruined your birthday, by the way.”
“You didn’t.”
It’s my turn to deadpan him. “My ex-boyfriend beat the crap out of you for talking to me.”
“And the night ended with a pretty girl in my bed, fawning over me,” Nick retorts smoothly. “I’d call that a win.”
