Page 39 of Tiny Fractures

I look around at Vada, Steve, Zack, and Summer; their heads are tipped back as they gulp down their shots. “Okay,” I nod, surprising myself.

Ronan extends his shot glass toward me. “To peer pressure,” he grins.

I clink my glass against his. “To peer pressure.”

I watch him tip his head back and swallow the alcohol, then slam the glass back onto the counter.

I pinch my nose with my left hand and put the glass to my lips with the right. In one swig, I work the alcohol down my throat and feel the burn spreading into my stomach. “I forgot how bad this stuff tastes,” I sputter, scrunching my nose.

“You’re kind of a pro at this,” Ronan observes, his brows raised in amusement. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” He reaches for the bottle of tequila and pours everyone another round.

“I was a bit of a party girl back in North Carolina,” I confess, and quickly take my second shot.

I can feel everyone staring at me, and Vada busts up laughing.

“My Kitty Cat a party girl! Well, this should be a fun night.”

“Oh no, that girl is no longer me,” I say vehemently, shaking my head as Vada pushes another shot glass my way.

Ronan

Murphy’s is busy again tonight, which means great tips. Jack is mixing and pouring drinks for a bunch of drunk frat guys loitering around the bar counter and shouting shit at each other about their latest hookups. It’s mildly amusing. Shane nods in their direction, grinning at me as I pass him with a tray of food and head for a table occupied by six or seven girls. They’re all in tight, short dresses, their hair done up. They’re celebrating the birthday of one of their friends, a brunette in a blue-sequined dress. She’s donned a sash with the phrase, “It’s my 21st birthday,” printed in gold, glittery letters. She hops up, clapping her hands together as I approach, and before I can set down the food she grabs the plate of hot wings off my tray.

“Jeez, Emily, calm down,” a red-haired girl in a dress so tight that it looks like her breasts will pop out the top says to the brunette. Her words are slurred and her voice is louder than it needs to be. “Let him put the food down.” She eyes me possessively, letting her eyes roam over my body.

I smile to myself while I pass out the plates of appetizers. When I’ve finished, she steps toward me and rests her right hand on my chest. “You’re really fucking hot.” She licks her bottom lip, and I pull away as she moves her face closer to mine. “What time do you get off? You should join us for some drinks later.” Her right hand slides down my chest to my stomach, and I grab her wrist just as she reaches the top of my jeans, stopping her from moving farther south.

“Sorry, I already have plans later,” I say, trying not to sound like a dick because that would jeopardize my tip. Her bottom lip pops out and she’s trying to make puppy eyes, but she’s so drunk that her face just contorts, causing her brunette friend to dissolve into a fit of laughter. The redhead turns to scold her friend, and I take the opportunity to retreat from the table of handsy sorority girls.

“You know, I bet that redhead would take you home tonight, if you let her.” Shane grins at me suggestively when I return to the bar to pick up a drink order.

I’m about to retort that he really needs to stop being so concerned with my sex life, but I’m distracted when the front doors open and Cat walks in. She looks around the place before she makes her way toward the bar with Vada, my brother, Zack, and Summer, and I can’t keep my eyes off her. She is by far the most beautiful girl in this place, and actually the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I quickly deliver the drinks and return to the counter where Shane has poured tequila and everyone is starting to do shots. I’m amazed at how easily Cat takes the first shot, and then the second. She says something about having been a party girl back in North Carolina, which is interesting because she doesn’t strike me as that type of person. But an hour and a half, three more tequila shots, and two long island ice teas later, I can see what she means.

Vada and my brother are making out on the dance floor while Cat sits at a table chatting animatedly—and rather loudly—with Tori, Summer, and Zack, her face flushed, cheeks and lips rosy.

Cat changed outfits after the move today; she’s wearing tight, faded blue jeans and this red, sleeveless blouse tucked into the band of her jeans. The blouse is a sheer material, and underneath it she’s wearing a white, strappy tank top. She looks fucking incredible.

Apparently I’m not the only one who notices her, because a tall frat guy with a scruffy face makes his way toward her table. I eye the guy, keeping a watchful eye on Cat, especially after Saturday.

Shane bumps his elbow into my arm. “God damn it, Ran. You’re obviously into her. When are you going to make your move?”

I frown at him. “I can’t, Shay. I can’t drag her into the shit that is my life,” I say against gritted teeth, reiterating my stance from only a few days ago.

Shane knows what happens at my house, sort of. He doesn’t have a full grasp of the extent of the violence, but he is aware that my mother occasionally loses her shit on me. He figured it out earlier this year when we were at the gym.

It was the morning after a particularly vicious beating and my ribs were raw and bruised, maybe cracked, I don’t know; it’s not like I can go to the doctor to figure out the extent of my injuries. I pushed myself hard that morning, and after a solid set of bench presses Shane playfully punched me in the ribs as an attaboy. The pain that shot through my body made my knees buckle, and it freaked Shane out. I tried to compose myself and kept telling him I was fine, but he made me pull up my shirt in the locker room and quickly realized that something wasn’t right at home. His dad and mine are close friends and have known each other since Shane and I started playing hockey together when I was only seven, and Shane knew Steve wouldn’t ever hit me like that, so he came to the right conclusion about my mother. I didn’t even have to say anything; he figured it out all by himself.

I made him swear not to tell anyone, and he begrudgingly agreed after I told him over and over that I was fine and that I could handle it. I definitely downplayed the frequency and seriousness of the violence I endure at home.

“You know you deserve to be happy, Ran. And I think she could make you happy,” he says in a serious tone, briefly glancing at the bruise on my forearm like he did this morning. I pull the sleeve of my shirt down to my wrist, covering myself. I have a feeling Shane has a pretty good idea that the bruise didn’t happen by accident, though he hasn’t bothered asking about it, knowing that it won’t change anything.

My eyes wander back to Cat and I nod absentmindedly.

A grin spreads across Shane’s face. “And I also think you could make her happy, if you know what I mean,” he says with a chuckle, one eyebrow cocked.

“Whatever.” I focus my attention on a girl who just moved up to lean on the bar; she’s wearing decidedly too much sparkly eyeshadow. I move out of the way so Jack can take her order and make a round through my table section. I check if people need refills or are ready to order before returning to the counter where Shane is wiping down laminated menus with a damp rag. I look back toward Cat’s table and realize she’s no longer there. Instead, she’s standing at the end of the bar some feet away from me, the scruffy-looking frat guy leaning in and saying something into Cat’s ear. She’s clearly uncomfortable; her whole body is closed off and trying to turn away from this guy who has his hands propped on the counter on either side of her small frame so she’s trapped between his arms. Fuck, it seems like Cat is a damn magnet for creeps. Can this girl ever go anywhere without someone trying some shit?

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