Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) (5 page)

He doesn’t answer. Answering would acknowledge his wrongs and he’s not going to do that.

He gives me a hand, pulling me to my feet. “You have to get your shit together, Bach.”

I ignore him. My whole body hurts. What did I do last night?
Who
did I do last night? I shuffle into the living room and fall onto the sofa. I pull a jacket off the back and bundle it up, using it as a pillow. “Hand me the remote,” I groan. My throat is raw.

He sits down in the gaming chair. “Get it yourself.”

“Dick.” I stretch painfully to reach the remote. When I do I turn the TV on and scroll through the channels until I spot a thick stack of money on the coffee table. “That mine?”

“Mhm. I took a few bills. Figured you owed me after puking in my jeep.”

“No way.” I laugh, groan at the pain it causes me, and then give up. “I puked in your jeep?” I rip off a couple fifty’s. “Here. Consider it a going away present.”

He takes them and stuffs them in his back pocket. “It’s fifteen hundred. I counted it.”

Good. I toss it back on the coffee table causing a few bills to fall over the edge and onto the floor.

I close my eyes, throwing my arm over my face. There’s a pinching ache in the back of my skull, radiating throughout my body. We’re quiet for a few minutes as the TV fills the space. It can’t fill the whole space though, only Dylan can. I have a feeling that space will get bigger before it gets smaller.

“I talked to Harley last night,” he announces.

It must not have gone well if he’s telling me. I look at him over my arm. “She as perfect as you think?”

“She broke up with me. Or I broke up with her. I think we both broke up with each other.”

I had many breakups, but they never hurt me. The title of “girlfriend” was more for the women’s sake than for my own. It’s one more lie to get what I wanted. But Harley genuinely loves him, and it admittedly probably doesn’t feel good to leave her behind. “You okay?”

He looks at the TV. “No.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I have to.”

I shrug. Whatever. “It’s your ass. You know those video games we play are fake, right? We’re playing against nerds in their underwear. That shit in Afghanistan is real. There’s no pause button. You can’t take a break and get a beer or take a piss. They don’t stop until you’re cold, man.”

He nods, still not looking at me. “I know.”

No, he didn’t know. “Are you scared?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“We’ve known each other since we were what, three? I know you, Dylan. Even if you want to pretend I don’t exist anymore, I know you.”

He swallows hard. “I don’t pretend you don’t exist. You pretend you don’t exist.”

“I fucking exist. I’m here aren’t I?”

“You’re not here. You’re either high. Or drunk. Or both. You’re either with that chick. This chick. Thinking about a chick. You’ve never been here. You ever stop and wonder why you do that shit? What makes you do these things? It’s not normal.”

“I would but I hear that beer in the fridge calling my name.”

“I’m serious, Bach.” He finally looks at me. “You’re going to end up stuck in this shitty life forever if you don’t get out now.”

I want to defend my shitty life, but when I open my mouth, I stop myself. What am I defending exactly? I know it’s my hangover. I always feel low after I drink and get high like this. My endorphins are drained. I feel as shitty as Dylan wants me to feel. “Don’t turn this around on me. If you’re scared why are you going?”

“I have to go. I—” He groans in frustration. “I just have to, all right? Why does everyone want a reason? I’m going. I’m leaving. It’s going to be better for everyone.”

“How’s Whitney?”

His head whips to me, our eyes lock, and his chest moves faster than it did a second ago. He thinks I know. I don’t of course, but I’d be an idiot if I told him that.

“Who told you? No one’s supposed to know.”

My mouth begs me to ask,
Know what?
Instead, I shrug. “Crystal Gulf is a small town.”

“Then you know I have to do this for her, Bach. She deserves better than us.”

Whitney? Slutty little Whitney deserves better than us? Better than Harley? Are we talking about the same Whitney? I can’t even come up with a response. “Whatever, bro.”

He gapes at me for a full minute, waiting for me to understand where he’s coming from. I don’t. I won’t. I don’t like Harley, she’s a stuck up princess, but that doesn’t mean I agree with Dylan’s actions. Harley loves him. There’s no way Whitney can love him like that. Whitney’s a Justine. They don’t love. They use. Girls like Harley love hard and forever. And men like Dylan and I destroy them because of it.

“Forget it,” he says, leaning back in the gaming chair. “You want to play?”

“How’s Harley?” I ask instead. I don’t know why I ask. It’s just that I can still see the pain in her scotch-colored eyes. I can’t shake the image.

He sighs way too hard. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I want to ask you to do me a favor.”

Uh-oh. Favor and Harley don’t go together. “What … ?”

“Take care of her for me? I tried to get her to go back to Houston for summer break but she doesn’t want to lose her apartment. She’s staying in Crystal Gulf all by herself. She doesn’t really know anyone here. She’s kind of … ”

“Stuck up?” I supply, annoyed because of what he’s asking me.

“She isn’t stuck up. She was raised different than us. She was shown so much good that when she sees something bad it’s like an alarm for her. She doesn’t want anything to do with it. She’s not a bad person. She’s just a good girl.”

“Why do you care what she does if she broke up with you?”

“Because I love her. That’s why. I love her with all my heart, man. All I need is for her to get through the next six months. When I come back from leave she’ll have had enough time to get over it. She’ll see. This is good for us.”

I don’t get it. Dylan wants to give Whitney a better life or Harley? This hangover is screwing with my brain. I sit up, sway a little, and my stomach rolls. I force it all down. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

He looks me in the eye. “Get her through the next six months. When I get back I’ll explain everything to her.”

“Why should I? She’s a snob, man.”

He gave me a hard look. “She isn’t a snob. She’s amazing, Bach. So good and pure. She’s like everything we could never have.”

That piques my interest. Either Dylan’s blind or I’m not seeing it. “She can’t stand me. We don’t even get along.”

That makes him smile. “I know. That’s why I want you to watch out for her. This way I won’t have to worry about some other shithead making a move on my girl.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. This sounds like a headache I don’t need or want. What do I get out of it?”

He thinks about it. “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of myself. Because when I look at you, I see me. I see someone Harley will never want. I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been avoiding myself.”

I let that sink in for a long time. It feels damn good to finally hear him say it. “Say it. Come on.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’re not ten anymore. It’s not cute.”

“It was never cute, Dylan. Say it. Or I’ll forget about looking out for Harley. You know how crazy summers are here. You’re not really that good looking anyway, at least not compared to me. Imagine the men she could meet.”

He groans. “Bach is the greatest thing on this planet since my Nerf gun, bubble gum, and the way little Olivia Roger’s overalls ride up. He’s cooler than a Tonka truck, the cherry ice cream on the pier, and spitting into fans. Man,” he finishes, laughing, “I can’t believe we used to force each other to say that.”

I crack a smile. “You got it wrong. I’m cooler than a pickup truck. Remember? Old Man Greer had that badass truck. We used to imagine driving to our girlfriends houses and picking them up to take them to the arcade. You were so uncool. What would you have done without me?”

“Honestly, Bach? I don’t know.”

“Me either.” I sit back, staring at him. I see the boy he used to be. The boy I used to be. The boys who promised to always have each other’s backs when no else would. “I’ll do it. I’ll look out for Harley. Even though I’m sure she’s going to be a pain in my ass.”

This crazy relief comforts him. His shoulders slouch with it. “Thank you, Bach.”

“Yeah, yeah. We done here? I have to puke again.”

For some strange reason it takes last night a while to catch up with me. When Dylan leaves I’m still on the bathroom floor. I have a feeling that E was weak , that’s why I had to take so much. It was probably half acid. That’s why I was hallucinating. Or maybe, just maybe, I drank too much. Took too much. Ran too hard. No, it was weak. My heart continues to race, my body sweats, yet my mouth is so dry my tongue feels like it might break off.

I think a shot might make me feel better. Fight fire with fire. I crawl to the kitchen. There’s an ice-cold bottle of vodka in the fridge. I sit with my back to it, unscrew the cap, and right as I put the bottle to my lips I catch sight of myself in the glass on the DVD cabinet. My hair is crazy, my skin is disgustingly pale, and my eyes look back at me in disgust.

When did Bach Bachmen become disgusting?

Harley

The only comfort I find is the darkness beneath my eyelids.

The only strength I have within the next week is dragging my body out of bed for my exams. I convinced my professor to let me take the one I missed. I think he could tell I was desperate. My appearance looked how my insides felt. Disheveled, forgotten, and broken. I probably failed anyway. All I could see when I tried to concentrate was Dylan’s face. His eyes. His pain. And yet he didn’t change his mind. He was still leaving.

He left me.

When he called I silenced it. When he texted I deleted them without reading his messages. When he came over I demanded with promises of extreme punishment to Len that she better not let him in. Dylan was gone. I had to pretend that was true until I believed it. There was no working this out. I wasn’t going to change my mind. Dylan left me for himself. It was the most backward thing I’ve ever witnessed. If I filled my heart with possibilities he would just crush them the same way he crushed me.

My heart didn’t accept this as easily as my brain. It replayed every moment we ever had together over and over again, picking them apart, analyzing each touch. Slowly each memory became a vicious lie. His kisses were beautiful fibs. My name whispered on his breath was an untruth. Dylan never loved me. There was no way he could. Love is strong. It could have shown him another path. Not the one path I couldn’t handle.

The worst part of this was he knew before he met me. He knew from the moment I laid eyes on him and him me that he wasn’t going to stick around. How could you do that to someone? I would never do that to him. I couldn’t imagine keeping in lies so big, so huge, that when I set them lose they’d rip him apart. He ripped me apart. I wondered what he meant when he said I love you. Did he laugh at me when I said it back? What about when we made love? Was each moan another brick in his lie foundation? Was I just some stupid naïve lay?

“Ahh!” I shove my pillow over my head just as someone knocks on my door. “What?”

Len opens my door and peeks in, sighing when she sees my face. “Are you sure you’re okay with me going back home for the summer? You don’t have to stay here. It’s just an apartment. We can get another one.”

“Bye.”

She purses her lips, starts to say something, and then drops it. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving in a couple hours. My dad’s coming to get me. I’d love to know that I’m not leaving you in bed for three months.”

In answer, I pull the sheet over my head.

“Come on, Harley. It’s just a guy. One guy. There’s so many of them out there it’s nauseating.”

Oh, like that makes me feel better. “Just close my door, Len.”

“What did he do?”

“Have fun.”

“What did he do?” she demands, coming to sit on the end of my bed. “Tell me.” When I don’t answer, she touches my foot over the covers. “Did he cheat on you? Hit you? Come out?”

I roll my eyes. “As if Dylan’s gay.”

“He could be. My brother’s gay. You’d never tell. He’s manlier than my werewolf alpha.”

I look at her over my covers. “How manly?”

“He can bench press his boyfriend.”

“Hmm. That is manly.” I lay back down. “Bye-bye now.”

“Tell me, Harley. We’re friends, right? I know we’re not running around tagging BFF in our pictures, but we’re still friends.”

“We don’t take pictures together. And don’t act like Dylan didn’t tell you when he came over a hundred times.” Every time the doorbell rang I cringed.

“He didn’t. I was afraid you were going to stab me if I let him in. I talked to him through the window. He was desperate. Poor guy. I thought he was going to cry last night. He made it sound like he wasn’t going to be able to come back.”

I close my eyes as his absence ravages me. He left last night. Or this morning. Either way he was gone this time. Suddenly I feel sick. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Then I remember what goodbyes do to me. It isn’t like Dylan is going on a fun trip with his boys. He’s going to war. I grew up in a house where war wasn’t idolized, but being in the army was, and even if it had been, it wasn’t anymore. There’s no getting around Dylan’s choice without acknowledging my own. Without admitting I have to let him go.