Page 60 of Tiny Fractures

“What do you want me to say?” I whimper. There it is again: my voice has lost all its confidence, just like it used to when Adam and I were dating and he would rip into me.

“Umm, I don’t know, how about a fucking apology in return?” His words come out sharp, and the volume of his voice is rising. “You ruined my fucking life, you bitch. And all you got is ‘thanks?’ The least you could do is apologize for getting me arrested, and even worse, for getting me kicked out of college before I even started. You ruined everything!”

There he is; this is the Adam I knew. All Southern charm one minute, and when that doesn’t work he gets nasty and violent.

His eyes have lost all compassion; they’re enlarged and cold as he lays into me. “It wasn’t my fault you acted the way you did.”

I’m too afraid to move and just stand there, my shoulders slumped forward, cowering.

“I was a good boyfriend. Hell, I took you out, I made you popular. And how did you pay me back? You never put out, you fucking tease, and then you got me fucking arrested!”

He starts toward me.

I will my legs to move but stumble over my own feet and fall to the ground.

“But I bet you’re putting out now! By the looks of those text messages, you got yourself a new boyfriend, you slut. I bet you have no problem letting him fuck you.” The Adam who used to beat on me is back, and I’m consumed by my fear. “I swear to god, Cat, you’ll pay for this.” He raises his fist at me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the blow to my face, just like he’s done before. But the blow doesn’t come.

I squint and see Adam still hovering over me, but his arm is lowered. He’s breathing heavily, though he appears to be coming to his senses. Whenever he used to get like this, he would lose all control of himself. I’ve never seen him regain his grip like this, and I decide to jump up before he changes his mind again.

I whirl around and away from him, storming back through the kitchen door and into the house where I find Julie and Nate in the kitchen.

“We were just coming to check on you,” Julie says, concern in her eyes.

Nate checks me over, looks past me, and spots Adam.

“Are you okay?” Julie asks as she puts both her hands on my shoulders and looks at me intently.

“Yeah. I want to go home,” I say, my voice still shaky.

“What happened? Did he touch you?” Nate growls, picking up on my fear.

I quickly shake my head at him. “No. I promise, he didn’t touch me. Is it okay if we leave, though?” I feel bad because it’s Julie’s birthday.

Julie nods and then looks at Nate. “Sure, we’ll drop you off at home,” she says, turns around, and puts her arm around my shoulder to lead me out to Nate’s truck.

Ronan

Shane’s party was what he would consider a success. As I expected, the crowd that showed up was huge, and by the time Shane tries to call it a night we’ve had to make two additional booze runs—thank God for excellent fake IDs and Shane’s charm. People are passed out by the beach, and when I try to use the bathroom, I find the door locked and hear a telling moan from inside.

“How do you plan on getting the stragglers out of here?” I ask Shane once I make my way back to the deck where everyone’s hanging out. Tori is sitting on Shane’s lap, her head resting on his shoulder, and it makes me ache for Cat.

“Easy,” Shane says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “All we need to do is yell, ‘Cops!’ and people will scatter like mice.”

We all laugh at the image. I sit down in one of the chairs ringing the fancy table that doubles as a fire pit and retrieve my phone to send Cat a text message for I-don’t-know-what-reason, other than to check in on her.

Me: Hey, how is your night?

I text her and stuff my phone back into my pocket just as the glass door slides open and Cheyenne stumbles onto the deck. Her short red-and-black hair is a mess, and it’s obvious she’s beyond wasted. She’s barefoot, her shoes in her hands, and her already-short skirt is hiked up her thighs, barely covering things. Her eyes are glassy and blood red, and she makes her way over to us while holding on to imaginary things to maintain her balance.

“You should sit down, Chey,” Tori says with a laugh in her voice.

Cheyenne considers Tori for a second, then moves toward me, swaying her hips. She stops right in front of me and slides her short skirt up her thighs an inch more, almost exposing herself to me before she straddles my legs and sits down too high on my lap, pressing herself against me. “This seems like a nice spot,” she says, attempting to sound flirty, but her speech is slurred and slow and she reeks of alcohol and smoke. I can feel her heat against me and try to get up, not wanting to give her any ideas, but she holds on to the arms of the chair, pushing herself closer to me.

“Cheyenne, I have to get up,” I say.

“Oh, come on, Ran. It’s been like two months since we hooked up,” she says, and her left hand snakes under the bottom of my shirt. I cringe when I feel her fingertips caressing the bare skin of my abs just above the waistline of my jeans, but I’m able to avoid her when she leans in to kiss me.

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