Page 26 of A Fine Line

Darius and Antoinette both laugh from behind me, and I shake my head as I continue walking down the stairs, but I hear Dare laughing along with her as he says, “It’s a fine line, baby girl. It’s a fine fucking line.”

Chapter Ten

Tony

I’mfallingapart.

Actually, falling apart doesn’t accurately describe the treacherous ruins of my current existence.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But it feels as if I have two battling personalities inside me vying for superiority, and my subconscious is there in the middle, playing the middleman while not having a fucking clue about what’s going on. Frankly, it’s very uncomfortable and disconcerting, and I’m not at all fucking happy about it.

But I digress, and Ineverdigress.

After I left Carolina in the lurch in the bathroom, I made my way downstairs, where I knew they were holding that piece of fucking shit douchebag who decided he could put his hands on her. I took one step into that room and did an immediate about-face when I realized I couldn’t control my urge to choke the life out of him.

That’s why I’m here, in a much smaller bathroom down the hall, leaning over the sink with my face dripping cold water as I stare at my own reflection in the mirror in disgust.

The door opens, and without looking, I know it’s Darius. Nettie would’ve gone to get him, knowing without me saying anything that we have a problem. That’s one thing I can say about Nettie, she’s very intuitive, and while she has no problem busting anyone’s balls, she also knows when to put that away and focus on being helpful.

I certainly had my reservations when she first “joined” our group, but those reservations were quickly put to rest when I realized having a completely different perspective made things better.

I grab a hand towel from the stack on the counter, dry my face, and then toss it in the laundry basket before looking at Darius. He’s giving me a small yet still smug smile, and so I squint at him. “Can I help you, Dare?”

He gives me a rather empathetic look and pats me on the shoulder. “I don’t know if there’s any help for you at this point, buddy.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re unraveling, man.” He stops patting me on my shoulder and squeezes it, waiting for me to meet his eyes before continuing, “You’re gonna have to decide what you’re gonna do, and then you’re gonna have to do it quickly.”

I straighten, shaking his hand off as I push away from the counter and start pacing back and forth in the room, sputtering, “It’s hard to make a decision when you don’t even understand the problem.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Tony. You know exactly what the problem is.”

I stop pacing, whirling around to gape at him. I raise my hands in front of me and shout, “Why can’t I keep on fucking hating her.”

Dare laughs outright at my nonquestion, throwing his head back until the sound of his laughter echoes around me, taunting me. After a few moments, he quiets enough to get words out and says, “Isn’t it grand?”

“Fuck my life. Fuck this goddamn fucking motherfucker shitbag.”

He laughs again, and it’s like he’s laughing at his own inside joke, so I let him laugh, and by the time he stops, he’s wiping tears from the corners of his eyes and giving me probably the most sympathetic look he can muster as I stand there with my arms crossed over my chest, glaring at him. Then he sits there watching me, his lips twitching as he waits for me to say something.

“What do I do?” I finally ask in a whisper.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he answers softly, most of the humor now gone as he gives me a serious look. “You’re the only one who can make that decision for yourself, and even then, it may be a losing battle because you’re not the only one who gets to make that decision. And while I won’t advise you to be overly cautious, I will advise you to be very clear in your intentions. The last thing that woman needs is a passive-aggressive, indecisive buffoon chasing her tail. So, if all you wanna do is have some fun, and she’s game for that, tell her. If it’s more, if you come to a definitive conclusion that you want to keep her, then tell her. Regardless of what you decide your overall intentions are, fucking tell her, and then allow her to decide what she wants.”

“Keep her? Tell her? Jesus fucking Christ, Dare. I just said I’d rather fucking hate her.”

“I can tell you from experience that what you’d rather do makes no difference,” he replies, not even bothering to attempt to hide his disbelief. “Obviously, you’re still stuck in the denial stage, but knowing you as well as I do, I don’t think you’ll stay there very long.”

A frustrated sound comes out of me that sounds like there’s an animal brewing in my chest, and he cackles again. I take a deep breath in through my nose and then exhale out of my mouth, repeating this several times until I feel my blood pressure stabilize. I look up and meet his eyes again, swallowing painfully past the lump in my throat and whispering, “Fuck.”

He doesn’t say anything as he continues to watch me patiently, likely because he knows where this is going. Which I suppose he does, given his recent history with Nettie. “How did this happen?”

“How does anything happen? Maybe it was like that the entire time, and you used whatever excuse you could find to keep the truth at arm’s length. It’s now no longer valid, and you’re left standing here just like you are now. Wrecked. Destroyed. A tarnished and shattered version of your former self.”

I don’t bother attempting to make fun of his description; I don’t even bother teasing him about what appears to be a romanticized commentary on my current predicament. Instead, I ask, “And how do I fix it?”

“You don’t.”

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