After Ever Happy (After #4) (50 page)

“Explain it. Now,” she urges, her eyes cold, a thunderous gray that terrifies me.

“Okay, okay.” I shift on my heels. “Okay, I have been writing.”

“How long?” She steps toward me. I’m surprised by the way my body retracts as if it’s afraid of her.

“A long time.” I avoid the truth.

“You’ll tell me, and you’ll tell me now.”

“Tess—”

“Don’t
Tess
me, motherfucker. I’m not the same little girl you met a year ago. You’re going to tell me now or you’ll get the hell out of here.” She purposely steps on a page, and I can’t find it in me to blame her. “Well, I can’t kick you out, because it’s Landon’s place, but I will leave if you don’t explain this shit. Now,” she adds, showing that, despite her anger, she’s still sweet.

“I’ve been writing for a long time, since the very beginning of us, but I didn’t have any intention of doing anything with it. I was only venting, using the paper to figure out what the fuck was going on in my head, but then I had this idea.”

“When?” Her finger presses against my chest, jabbing at me in what she must think is a forceful way, but she couldn’t be more wrong. I won’t tell her that, not right now.

“I started it after we kissed.”

“The first time?” Her hands spread, shoving my chest, and I wrap my fingers around them as they push against me again. “You were playing me.” She wrenches her hands from mine and digs her open hands into her long hair.

“No, I wasn’t! It wasn’t like that!” I say, trying not to raise my voice. It’s hard but I manage to keep a somewhat subdued tone.

She paces the small living room, fuming and whirling.

Her hands clench at her sides before she throws them into the air, again. “So many secrets, too many secrets. I’m over it.”

“You’re over it?” I gape at her. Her body is still moving restlessly around the room. “Talk to me; tell me how you feel about all of this.”

“How I feel?” She shakes her head, her eyes wild. “I feel like this was a wake-up call, the string that pulled me back into reality and away from the ridiculous hopes of the last few days. This is us.” She waves her hand back and forth. “There is always some bomb waiting to explode, and I’m not foolish enough to wait to be destroyed. Not anymore.”

“This isn’t a bomb, Tessa. You act as if I was writing this to purposely hurt you!”

She opens her mouth to speak before closing it again, at a loss for words, I’m sure. When she collects herself, she says, “And just how did you think I would feel when I saw this? You knew I would find out eventually; why didn’t you just tell me about it? I hate the way this feels.”

“The way what feels?” I ask with caution.

“This feeling, it’s like a burning in my chest when you pull stuff like this, and I hate it. I haven’t felt this way in so long, and I never wanted to feel it again, yet here we are.” The sound of defeat is clear in her soft voice, and my skin rises in bumps when she turns away from me.

“Come here.” I reach for her arm and pull her as close to me as she will allow. Her arms cross in front of her as I crush her against my chest. She doesn’t fight me off, but she doesn’t hug me. She stands still, and I’m not sure if the worst is over.

“Tell me what you are feeling.” My voice comes out awkward and short. “What you are thinking?”

She pushes against my chest again, with less force this time, and I let her go. She bends down at her knees and picks up one of the pages.

I had originally starting writing this as a form of expression, and, honestly, because I’d run out of shit to read. I was in between books, and Tessa, Theresa Young at the time, had started to intrigue me. She started to annoy me and piss me off, and I found myself thinking about her more and more.

When she was in my head, there didn’t seem to be room for anything else. She became an obsession, and I convinced myself that it was a part of the game, but I knew better than that, I just wasn’t ready to admit it yet. I remember the way I felt the first time I saw her, the way her lips looked so pouty, and the way I cringed at her outfit.

The skirt she wore had touched the floor, and her flat shoes were causing the damn thing to drag across it awkwardly. She stared down at the floor when she spoke her name for the first time—“Um, yeah . . . my name is Tessa”—and I remember thinking she had an odd name. I hadn’t paid much attention after that. Nate was nice to her, and I was irritated by the way she stared at me, judging me with those gray eyes.

She nagged at me every day, even when she didn’t speak to me, especially then.

“Are you even listening to me?” Her voice breaks through the memory, and I look over at her to find her fuming again.

“I was . . .” I hesitate.

“You weren’t even listening,” she accuses, rightfully so. “I can’t believe you would do this. This is what you were doing all of those times I came home, and you would put your binder away. This is what I found in the closet just before I found my father . . .”

“I won’t make excuses, but half of the shit in there is from my intoxicated mind.”

“ ‘Trash’?” Her eyes scan the page in her hand. “ ‘She couldn’t hold her liquor, she stumbled through the room in a messy way, the way tasteless girls move when they drink too much to impress others.’ ”

“Stop reading that shit, that part isn’t about you. I swear it and you know it.” I pull the page from her, but she quickly snatches it back.

“No! You don’t get to write my story and tell me that I can’t read it. You still haven’t explained anything.” She moves across the living room, lifting a shoe from the rug near the front door. She pushes both feet into her shoes and adjusts her shorts.

“Where are you going?” I’m prepared to follow her.

“I’m going for a walk. I need air. I need to get out of here.” I can tell she’s mentally cursing herself for giving me any bit of information.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. You won’t.” Her keys are in her hands, and she gathers her messy hair above her head, twisting it and tying it back to control it.

“You are barely dressed,” I point out.

She sends me a murderous glare. Without a word, she leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Nothing was accomplished just now, nothing solved. The plan I had to control the complications turned into a fucking disaster, and now shit’s even more complicated. I kneel down on the floor, forcing myself not to follow her, throw her over my shoulder while she’s kicking and screaming, and lock her in her room until she’s ready to talk to me.

No, I can’t do that. That would be backtracking on all the “progress” I’ve made. Instead, I gather the scrambled pages from the floor and read over some of the words, reminding myself why I decided to try to do something with this shitty writing in the first place.

“What is that you keep trying to hide over there?” Nate leaned over, being nosy as ever.

“Nothing, man, mind your business.” Hardin scowled, staring across the courtyard. He didn’t know how he started sitting here every day, at this exact time. It had nothing to do with Tessa and annoying-ass Landon meeting at the coffee shop every morning. Nothing at all to do with that.

He didn’t want to see the obnoxious girl. He really didn’t.

“I heard you and Molly last night in the hallway, you sick fuck.” Nate flicked the ashes off his cigarette and made a face.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let her in my room, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Hardin laughed, proud that she was so willing to blow him at any moment, even in the hallway next to his room.

What he didn’t tell them was that he’d turned her down and ended up jerking off while thinking of a certain blonde.

“You’re an asshole.” Nate shook his head. “Isn’t he an asshole?” he asked Logan as the third boy approached the run-down picnic table.

“Yeah, he is.” Logan held his hand out for a cigarette from Nate, and Hardin tried not to look at the girl in the potato-sack skirt waiting to cross the street.

“One of these days you’re gonna fall in love, and I’m going to laugh my fucking ass off. You’ll be the one giving oral in the hallway, and the chick won’t let you in her room.” Nate got a kick out of mocking him this way, but he could barely hear him.

Why does she dress that way?
he found himself wondering as she rolled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt. Hardin watched, pen in hand, as she walked closer, her eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of her, and she apologized too many times when she bumped into a puny boy, causing a book to fall from his hands.

She bent down to help and smiled at him, and Hardin couldn’t help remembering how soft her lips were when she forced herself on him the other night. He was surprised as fuck—he didn’t take her as the type to make the first move and was fairly positive that she had only kissed her lame-ass boyfriend before. Her gasping and the way her hands were so eager to touch him made that pretty clear.

“So what’s going on with the bet?” Logan nodded toward Tessa as she smiled widely, spotting Landon in all his nerd glory, backpack and all.

“Nothing new,” Hardin instantly replied, covering the paper with one arm. How was he supposed to know what was going on with the mouthy, poorly dressed girl? She had barely spoken to him since her crazy-ass mom and lame-ass boyfriend had showed up pounding on her door Saturday morning.

Why was her name written on this paper? And why was Hardin feeling like he was going to break out in a full-on sweat if Logan didn’t stop staring like he knew something?

“She’s annoying, but she seems to like me more than Zed, at least.”

“She’s hot,” the two guys said at the same time.

“If I was a dickhead, I would go against the two of you. I’m better looking anyway,” Nate teased, sharing a laugh with Logan.

“I want nothing to do with this shit. This is all fucking stupid, really—you shouldn’t have fucked his girlfriend,” Logan scolded Hardin, who only laughed.

“It was worth it,” he said, looking back to the sidewalk across the courtyard. She had disappeared, and he changed the subject, asking about that weekend’s party coming up.

As the two of them bickered over how many kegs to buy, Hardin found myself writing down how afraid she’d looked on Friday when she nearly pounded his door in to get away from that creepy Neil, who tried to make a move on her. He’s a bastard, and would surely remain pissed at Hardin for the bottle of bleach he poured on his bed Sunday night. It wasn’t like Hardin gave a shit about her; it was the principle of the situation.

After that, the words just kept writing themselves. I had no control over it, and with every interaction I had with her, I had more to say about her. About the way she crinkled her nose in disgust when she explained to me that she hated ketchup. I mean, who hates
ketchup
?

With every small detail I learned about her, my feelings grew. I would deny them until later, but they were there.

When we lived together, it grew harder to write. I found myself writing much less often, but when I did, I would hide my latest writing in the closet in a shoe box. I had no idea that Tessa had found the damn thing until now, and here I am, wondering when I will stop complicating my damn life.

More memories flood my mind, and I wish I could just plug her into my head, so she could read my thoughts and decipher my intentions.

If she were in my head, she could see the conversation that led me to New York City to meet with publishers. It wasn’t something that I had ever intended to do. It just happened. I had written down so many moments, so many memorable moments between us. The first time I said I loved her; the second time, when I didn’t take it back. Thinking about all of these memories while cleaning up this mess is overwhelming, and I can’t help the memories from setting up shop in my mind.

He was leaning against the goalpost, pissed and bruised. Why had he started a fight with those guys in the middle of the stupid-ass bonfire anyway? Oh yeah, because Tessa left with Zed, and he hung up on Hardin, leaving him with nothing but a sarcastic tone and the knowledge that Tessa was in Zed’s apartment.

It drove him much crazier than it should have. He wanted to forget about it, block it out, and feel physical pain in place of the unwelcome burn of jealousy.
Would she fuck him?
he kept thinking.
Would he win?

Was it even about winning anymore? He couldn’t tell. The lines had blurred sometime, and Hardin couldn’t exactly put his finger on when it happened, but he was aware of it, sort of.

He had sat down on the grass, wiping the blood from his mouth, when Tessa approached. Hardin’s vision was slightly blurred, but she was clear, he remembered that. During the drive back to Ken’s house she was fidgety, unsure, and acting as if he were some rabid animal.

She focused on the road and asked, “Do you love me?”

Hardin was surprised—hell, he was fucking surprised and not prepared to answer her question. He’d already proclaimed his love for her, then taken it back, and there she was, crazy as ever, asking if he loved her while his face was swelling and bruising.

Of course he loved her, who the fuck was he kidding?

Hardin avoided answering her question for a while, but holding back became unbearable, and he found the words spilling out. “It’s you. You’re the person that I love the most in the world.” It was true, as embarrassing and uncomfortable as it was to admit. He loved her, and he knew from then on that his life would never be the same after her.

If she left him, if she spent the remainder of her life absent from his, he would still never be the same. She had altered him, and there he stood, bloody knuckles and all, wanting to be better for her.

The next day, I found myself giving the pile of crumpled, coffee-stained pages a title:
After.