Page 182 of Positively Pricked
While hurling things into my suitcases, I tried to take some satisfaction from the fact that, unlike the rest of Zane's flings, I'd at least shown a little dignity.
But dignity – or any other lofty ideal – didn't keep me warm that night as I tossed and turned in the cold and empty bed, wishing like crazy to turn back the clock.
After that restless night, followed by a tense ride to the airport, Zane and I boarded his private jet before the sun even peeked over the horizon.
And then, we were off.
Across from me sat Zane, grim and silent, staring at nothing in particular. Stupidly, I found myself longing for the dubious company of Teddy or even What's-Her-Name – anything to break the lingering tension.
After two silent hours, Zane looked to me and said, "Tell me."
I almost jumped at the sound of his voice. "Tell you what?"
"What you're thinking."
I tried to smile. "Right now, I'm thinking that I'd better keep my mouth shut."
"Yeah? And why's that?"
"Because," I said with a glance toward the window, "I think we're like ten minutes from Kalamazoo."
He frowned. "Was that a joke?"
Was it?I couldn’t be sure either way. I gave a small shrug. "Maybe. Honestly, I'm not sure."
His gaze locked on mine. "So that's what you think? That I'd ditch you at some random city?"
"Well, you ditchedher."
"Yeah, I did." His voice hardened. "And admit it. You were glad."
I stiffened. "I was not."
"You wanna keep telling yourself that? Fine by me. But we both know what you were thinking."
"Yeah. I was horrified."
"Maybe," he said. "But you were glad, too, whether you'll admit it or not."
"And what if Idon'tadmit it?" I said. "Will you be droppingmein Kalamazoo?"
He looked away. "No."
"Oh yeah? And why not?"
"Because we passed it five minutes ago."
Now, it was my turn to ask, "Wasthata joke?"
He was still looking away. "Hell if I know."
As an answer, it was oddly unsatisfying, but I was smart enough to not press the issue. After all, the flight wasn't over yet, and unless I wanted to cool my heels in Fort Wayne or wherever, I knew better than to push my luck.
So instead, I leaned back and tried to think of anything but him – not that I had any success.
When we landed, another limo was waiting. To my lingering despair, he told me flat-out that he was seeing me home. Just like so many other things, it was sweet and terrible all at the same time.
But I knew better than to argue – because from the look on his face, it was pretty obvious that I wouldn't win.
Through all of this – all of the tension, all of the silence, all of the unanswered questions – I tried to console myself with one single thought. Soon, I could crawl into my own bed, have a good cry, and then forget that Zane Bennington ever existed.
There was only one problem. When we pulled up to my house, it looked nothing like it had when I left. In fact, I wasn't even sure how to describe it.
As I stared at the destruction, only one word came to mind.
Squashed.
