Page 62 of Ward Willing
Go home and face Liam? On today of all days? No, thank you.
“No. I’ll grab a drink and call a cab later.”
Scotty nods before I reach for the door. “Zo?”
I turn to look at him before climbing out. “Yeah?”
“Be careful. With Liam, I mean.”
I press my lips together and shut the door without replying, because the truth is, Liam is theonlyperson who makes me feel safe. I don’t have to be careful, or whatever other narrative Scotty is trying to insinuate.Ifthere’s something blossoming between us, it’s only because I’ve chipped away at his walls piece by piece over the last year.
A person can only take so much temptation before they give in.
He’s not a predator. He’s not pursuing me. He’sactivelyfighting against it.
It makes me angry that someone else would see it in an entirely different light, and I stomp toward the door as my mind spins.
After I show the bouncer my fake ID, I walk into the bar and realize almost immediately that it was probably the wrong idea to come here alone. I feel eyes on me as I make my way through the bass-heavy electronic music, taking in the flashing lights, black velvet, gold accents, and people dressed to the nines clumsily stumbling around. I wish I could remember what this building used to be, but of course I don’t spend enough time in Crestwood to know. It’s large and open, almost like a warehouse, and despite the swanky atmosphere, the music is a bit too loud to be considered upscale.
As I make my way to the bar, I quickly text my aunt Carolina before scheduling a ride home on my rideshare app for three hours from now in case the alcohol hits harder than I expect it to. Because truthfully, between what just happened with Scotty, what’s currently happening with Liam, and the fact that my parents have been dead for four whole years…
I start strong. Using Liam’s credit card, I order two shots and throw them back on a nearly empty stomach. The alcohol does its job quickly, making my skin buzz before I’ve gotten to the dance floor. Tucking my phone into the waistband of my skirt, I decide that tonight, I don’t give a fuck.
Aboutanything.
I let go of my worries about grades and classes, LSATs and law school, being an orphan, Scotty, Liam…
This, tonight, is forme.
As I lift my arms, my silky red tank top rides up, exposing my stomach. My short, black skirt shifts against my thighs, and all I can think about as I dance with strangers is how it felt to have Liam’s thigh between my legs.
How the last time I fully gave into music was when I was coming right in front of him.
How hesawme, how hard he was…
When the song ends, I walk to the bar and order two more shots, because I don’t really want to think about him and hownicehe is. Howpoliteandcaringhe is.
Because it makes me want him more, and he doesn’t want me, so what’s the point?
This time, a slower song comes on, and the soft music hits a different chord. The events of tonight, of the last month, really, hit me all at once. My breathing gets labored as my eyes sting with tears. I’m just drunk enough to slink off to the bathroom, and the emotions of the day hit me all at once, square in the chest. I’m barely inside the stall when the hyperventilating begins. When the ache in my chest becomes too much, I almost scream for someone to call an ambulance. Tears stream down my face as the grief washes over me.
Four years.
Soon, it’ll be five. Then ten. Then fifteen.
And I will have lived longerwithoutthem than with them.
The thought spirals until I’m crumpled on the floor, trying to mask my sobbing. A couple of people ask if I’m okay, but I don’t answer. I wring my hands as I look up at the ceiling and let the tears fall into my tank top, wishing I’d joined them on that hike.
I’d been home for the weekend, which wasn’t the norm. They’d planned this day hike in the woods behind Crestwood for weeks, and when the day came, I asked them if they should be hiking in the rain.
They offered to take me. My dad’s face lit up when I considered it.
But I had to study for a big test on Monday; it was a social justice report for my American Politics class.
My dad had rubbed my hair before kissing the top of my head, calling me hisfuture little lawyer, and my mom chuckled and pulled me in for a tight hug.
And then they left, and I never saw them again.
