“I am no one’s girlfriend,” I snap.
My attitude seems to spur Mark further; his smile grows, and his hand moves to my back in an attempt to lead me back into the living room. “Good, it’s settled, then.”
“Get off of her!” Hardin’s hands push against Mark’s back, not hard enough to knock him down, but with enough force to push him away from me. “Outside, now!” Hardin snaps while walking past me through the living room and out the door. I follow him out into the hallway and slam the door behind me.
He tugs at his hair, his temper rising. “What the fuck was that?”
“What was what? Me calling you out on your shit? You think you can just shove a plane ticket and a key chain into a suitcase and I’ll go away?” I shove at his chest, pushing him against the wall. I almost apologize, I almost feel guilty for pushing him, but when I look up into his dilated eyes, every trace of remorse dissolves. He reeks of pot and liquor; there’s no hint of the Hardin I love.
“I’m so fucking lost in my own head right now that I can’t think straight, let alone give you a fucking explanation for the thousandth goddamn time!” he yells, slamming a fist into the cheap drywall, cracking it.
I have witnessed this scene one too many times. This one will be the last. “You didn’t even try! I did nothing wrong!”
“What more do you need, Tessa? Do you need me to fucking spell it for you? Get out of here—go back where you belong! You have no business in this place, you don’t fit in.” By the time he gets to the last word, his voice is neutral—soft, even. Disinterested, almost.
I don’t have any fight left in me. “Are you happy now? You win, Hardin. You win yet again. You always do, though, don’t you?”
He turns, looking me straight in the eyes. “You know that better than anyone, wouldn’t you say?”
chapter fourteen
TESSA
I don’t know how I manage to make it to Heathrow on time, but I do.
Kimberly gives me a goodbye hug when she drops me off, I think. I do remember Smith just watching me, calculating something unknowable.
And here I sit on the plane, next to an empty seat, with an empty mind, and an empty heart. I couldn’t have been more wrong about Hardin, and that really does just go to show that people can only change themselves, no matter how hard you try. They have to want it as bad as you do or there is no hope.
It’s impossible to change people who have their mind set on who they are. You can’t support them enough to make up for their low expectations, and you can’t love them enough to make up for the hate they feel for themselves.
It’s a losing battle, and finally after all this time, I am ready to surrender.
chapter fifteen
HARDIN
James’s voice rings in my ear, and his bare foot is rubbing against my cheek. “Dude! Get up. Carla’s almost here, and you’re hogging the only bathroom.”
“Fuck off,” I groan, closing my eyes again. If I could move, what I would do is break his toes.
“Scott, get the fuck up. You can crash on the couch, but you’re a fucking giant and I need to piss and at least attempt to brush my teeth.” His toes press against my forehead, and I attempt to sit up. My body feels like a fucking bag of bricks, and my eyes and throat burn.
“He’s alive!” James calls.
“Shut the fuck up.” I cover my ears and walk past him into the living room. Empty beer bottles and red cups are being tossed into trash bags by a half-naked Janine and an overenthusiastic Mark.
“So, how was the bathroom floor?” Mark lilts through the cigarette between his lips.
“It was ace.” I roll my eyes and sit down on the couch.
“You were fucking wrecked,” he says quite proudly. ‘When was the last time you drank like that?”
“I don’t know.” I rub my temples, and Janine hands me a cup. I shake my head, but she pushes it closer.
“It’s only water.”
“I’m fine.” I don’t mean to be a dick to her, but, fuck, she’s annoying.
“You were so fucked-up,” Mark says. “I thought that American . . . what was her name, Trisha?” My heart pounds in my chest at the mention of her name, even if he got it wrong. “I thought she was going to tear the place down! She was a feisty little thing.”
Images of Tessa screaming at me, throwing a bottle against the wall, and walking away from me flood my memory. The weight of the pain in her eyes presses me farther into the couch, and I feel like I’m going to get sick again.
It’s for the best.
It is.
Janine rolls her eyes. “Little? I wouldn’t say she was little.”
“I know you’re not insulting her looks,” I say coolly, despite the burning urge to throw the cup of water in Janine’s face. If Janine thinks she’s anywhere near as beautiful as Tessa, she’s been snorting more cocaine than I thought.
“She’s not as skinny as me.”
One more bitchy comment, Janine, and I’ll tear your self-confidence to shreds.
“Sis, no offense, but that chick was way hotter than you. That’s probably why Hardin is so in loo-ove.” Mark draws out the last word.
“In love? Please! He kicked her ass out of here last night.” Janine laughs, and the knife twists in my stomach.
“I’m not—” I can’t even finish the sentence with a steady voice. “Don’t bring her up again. I’m not fucking around,” I threaten the pair.
Janine mumbles something under her breath, and Mark chuckles while emptying an ashtray into a trash bag. I lay my head against the cushion behind my back and close my eyes. I’m not going to be able to be sober, ever. Not if I want this pain to go away; not if I have to sit here with a hollowed-out fucking chest.
I feel antsy and impatient, nauseated and exhausted, and it’s the worst fucking combination.
“She will be here in twenty minutes!” James says. I open my eyes and find him dressed and walking in circles in the small living room.
“We know. Shut up, already. We go through this once a month.” Janine lights a joint, and I reach for it the moment she exhales.
I have to self-medicate; there is no other option for a coward like me, hovering in a corner and hiding from the throbbing ache of having my entire life ripped away from me.
I cough on the first hit. My lungs haven’t missed the dry burn from forcing too much pot on them. After the third hit, the ache dims, the numbness taking over. Not completely the way it should, but I’m getting there. I’ll be back in form.
“Give me that, too.” I reach for the bottle in Janine’s hand.
“It’s not even noon,” she says, screwing the lid on.
“I didn’t ask you for the time and temperature. I asked for the vodka.” I rip it from her hands, and she huffs in annoyance.
“So you dropped out of uni, then?” Mark asks, blowing circles with the smoke leaving his mouth.
“No . . .” Shit. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.” I take a swig of the liquor, welcoming the burn as it travels down into my empty body. I have no fucking idea what I’ll do about school. I only have half a semester left until I graduate. I’ve already turned in the graduation paperwork and opted out of the damn ceremony. I also have an apartment with all my shit in it and a car parked at Sea-Tac Airport.
“Janine, go make sure the sink is empty of dishes,” Mark says.
“No, I always get stuck doing your fucking dishes—”
“I’ll buy your lunch. I know you’re broke,” he says, which works, and she leaves us alone in the living room. I can hear James shuffling around in his bedroom; it sounds like he’s redecorating the place.
“What’s with this Carla chick?” I ask Mark.
“She’s James’s girlfriend. She’s real cool, actually, but she’s a bit of a snob. Not like bitchy or anything, she’s just not into all this shit.” Mark waves his hands around the dingy apartment. “She’s in med school and her parents have money and shit.”
I laugh. “Then w
hat the hell is wrong with her that she’s with James?”
“I can hear you, cunts!” James yells from his bedroom.
Mark’s laughing now, much harder than I am. “I don’t know, but he’s fucking pussy-whipped and panics every time she comes to visit. She lives in Scotland, so it’s only like once a month, but this is how it always is. He’s always trying to impress her. That’s why he enrolled in uni, even if he already failed two classes.”
“And that’s why he fucks your sister all the time?” I raise a brow. James was never a one-woman man, that’s for damn sure.
James pops his head around the corner to defend himself. “I only see Carla once a month, and I haven’t fucked Janine in weeks!” He disappears again. “Now stop talking shit before I kick both your asses out!”
“Fine! Go shave your balls or something,” Mark taunts him, and passes the joint to me. He taps the label on the vodka bottle resting between my legs. “Look, Scott, I’m not into all this relationship-drama bullshit, but you’re not fooling anybody here with this whole act.”
“It’s not an act,” I snap.
“Sure, sure. All I’m getting at is that you show up here in London after being gone for three years, not to mention that chick you brought with you.” His eyes move from my face to the bottle, to the joint. “And you’re bingeing. Plus, I think your hand is broken.”
“It’s none of your business. Since when do you give a fuck about bingeing? You do it every day.” I’m growing more and more annoyed with Mark and his sudden need to pry into my fucking life. I ignore his comment about my hand, which admittedly is turning purple and green. But that shitty drywall couldn’t have broken my hand.
“Don’t be a dick; you can indulge all you want. I don’t remember you being this sensitive; you were fucking ruthless before.”
“I’m not sensitive; you’re just making something out of nothing. That chick is some random girl from my college in America. I met her and fucked her. She wanted to see England, so she paid our way here, and I fucked her again in the queen’s realm. End of story.” I take another drink of vodka to drown the bullshit I’m spewing.
Mark still doesn’t look convinced. “Sure.” He rolls his eyes—a pesky habit he picked up from his sister.
Annoyed, I turn and face him, but even before I speak, I feel bile rising in my throat. “Look, when I met her, she was a virgin, and I fucked her to win a bet worth a good chunk of fucking change, so, no, I’m not sensitive. She’s no one to me—”
This time I can’t swallow it down. I cover my mouth and dash past James, who ends up cussing me out for puking all over the bathroom floor.
chapter sixteen
TESSA
This thing is like a little laptop.” I press another button on my new gadget. My new iPhone has more functions than a computer. I run my finger over the large screen, tapping on the small squares. Tapping on the small camera box, I jump back when an unflattering angle of me cringes back at me. I quickly close it, pressing down on the Safari icon. I type Google because, well, that’s my first instinct. This phone is so odd. It’s more than confusing, but I’m in no hurry to learn how to navigate the thing. I’ve only had it for ten minutes and haven’t even left the store yet. Everyone makes it seem so simple, tapping and sliding their fingers across the gigantic screen, but there are so many options. Too many, really.
Still, I suppose it’s fun to have so many options to occupy my time. This thing could keep me busy for hours, days maybe. I scroll through the music choices and am amazed by the idea of having endless songs at the tap of a finger.
“Did you want me to help you transfer your contacts and pictures and stuff to your new phone?” the young girl behind the counter asks. I had forgotten that she and Landon were here; I was so entranced by attempting to learn how to use this phone.
“Uhm, no, thank you,” I politely decline.
“Are you sure?” Her heavily lined eyes are surprised. “It only takes a sec.” She chews her gum.
“I have all the numbers I need memorized.”
She shrugs her shoulders and stares at Landon.
“I need yours,” I say to him. My mother and Noah’s numbers were always the only ones of necessity. I need a fresh start, a new beginning. My shiny new phone with only a few numbers saved in it will help that. As much as I always refused to get a new phone before, I’m glad I did now.
It feels surprisingly refreshing to start over: no contacts, no pictures, nothing.
Landon guides me through saving a new number, and we leave the store.
“I’ll show you how to get your music back. It’s easier on this phone anyway,” Landon says, smiling as he turns onto the freeway. We are on our way back from the mall, where I had to spend too much money on a week’s worth of clothes.
A clean break, that’s what this needs to be. No reminiscing, no scrolling through photo after photo. I don’t know where to go, what to do next, but I do know that holding on to something that was never mine will only hurt more.
“Do you know how my father is doing?” I ask Landon over lunch.
“Ken called in on Saturday, and they told him that Richard was adjusting. The first few days are going to be the worst.” Landon reaches across the table to steal fries from my plate.
“Do you know when I can visit him?” If all I have is my estranged-until-only-a-month-ago father and Landon, I want to hold on to both of them as closely as I can.
“I don’t know for sure, but I will ask when we get back to the house.” Landon looks over at me. I hold on to my new phone, bringing it to my chest without thinking about it. Landon’s eyes fill with sympathy. “I know it’s only been one day, but have you given New York any thought?” he asks cautiously.
“Yes, a little.”
I’m waiting to make the decision until I talk to Kimberly and Christian in person. I heard from her this morning, and she said they will be leaving England on Thursday. I’m still trying to figure out how it’s only Tuesday. It feels much longer than two days since I left London.
My mind goes to him and what he’s doing . . . or who he’s with. Is he touching that girl right now? Is she wearing his shirt again? Why am I torturing myself with thoughts of him? I’ve been avoiding him, and now I can see his bloodshot green eyes, I can feel the tips of his fingers brushing across my cheek.
I was both hurt and pathetically relieved when I found a dirty black T-shirt while rummaging through my suitcase at Chicago O’Hare. I started off looking for my phone charger and ended up finding his last blow. I couldn’t bring myself, no matter how many times I tried, to walk over and throw it into the nearest trash can. I couldn’t. Instead, I shoved it back into the suitcase and buried it under my clothes.
So much for a clean break, but I’m giving myself a break, given how hard all this feels. How my entire world has been ripped apart, and I’m left alone to sort out the pieces . . .
No. As I resolved on the plane, I won’t indulge in such thinking. These thoughts are getting me nowhere. Feeling sorry for myself only makes it worse.
“I’m leaning towards New York, but I need a little more time to decide,” I tell Landon.
“Good.” His smile is contagious. “We would leave in about three weeks at the end of the semester.”
“I hope so.” I sigh, desperately wanting time to pass. A minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, any time that passes can only be a good thing for me at this point.
And so it does, time passes, and somehow I find myself moving along with it. The problem is, I haven’t decided if that’s a good thing or not.
chapter seventeen
HARDIN
Opening the front door of the apartment, I’m surprised when I find all the lights on. Tessa usually doesn’t keep them all running at once; she’s a stickler for keeping our electricity bill low.
“Tess, I’m home. Are you in the room?” I call out. I can smell dinner in the oven, and soft music is playing on our little stereo.
I toss my
binder and keys onto the table and go in search of her. I quickly notice that the bedroom door’s slightly open, and then I hear voices snaking out through the opening, as if riding the music out into the hallway. The moment I hear his voice, I shove the door open with anger.
“What the fuck!” I scream, the sound booming through the small bedroom.
“Hardin? What are you doing here?” Tessa asks as if I’m intruding. She pulls the comforter up to cover her bare body, a faint smile resting on her lips.
“What am I doing here? What is he doing here?” I point an accusatory finger at Zed, who scrambles off the bed and begins pulling his boxers on.
Tessa continues to glare at me like I’m the one fucking some shithead in our bed. “You can’t keep coming here, Hardin.” The tone of her voice is so dismissive, so mocking. “This is the third time this month.” She sighs, lowering her voice. “Have you been drinking again?” The question is laced with sympathy and annoyance.
Zed crosses in front of the bed and protectively stands in front of her, his arm hovering over her . . . her swollen belly.
No . . .
“Are you?” I choke out. “You’re . . . you and him?”
She sighs again, tightening the blanket around her. “Hardin, we have been over this so many times. You don’t live here. You haven’t lived here for, I forget, something like over two years now.” She’s so matter-of-fact about it all, and the way her eyes search Zed’s face for help with my intrusion isn’t lost on me.
Confused, the air taken out of me, I crumple to my knees in front of the two of them. And then quickly feel a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, but you have to go. You’re upsetting her.” Zed’s voice gently mocks me.
“You can’t do this to me,” I beg her, reaching my hand toward her pregnant belly. It can’t be real. It can’t be real.
“You did this to yourself,” she says. “I’m sorry, Hardin, but you did this.”
Zed rubs her arms to calm her, and rage rips through me. I dig into my pocket and pull out my lighter. Neither of them notice; they just cling to each other as my thumb flicks over the lighter. The small flame is familiar, an old friend now, as I bring the flame to the curtain. My eyes close as Tessa’s face is illuminated by the angry flames consuming the room.