Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) (9 page)

She laughs humorlessly. “Cheers, handsome.”

I gulp it down, letting the burn dull me. “Does she know about me?”

“Hillary? Of course not. I did a good job at sheltering her. I’m sure she’s not the angel I think she is, but the fact that she can convince me is good enough. And don’t you go seeking her out, either. She’s fine not knowing you exist.”

“I agree.” I had no desire to disturb another angel. She’d probably look at me in the disgust the same way Harley did.

“Good.”

I drink by myself for the rest of the day. The bar fills at noon, the factory workers coming to cut the edge during lunch, then it empties at one until it fills back up at five. I slip lower and lower on my stool.

I drink until my nightmare’s gone.

Until my memory can’t even remember what I’m trying to forget. Forty-something doesn’t charge me. When I get up to leave, I thank Patty with a nod, ignore the concerned look she gives me, and stumble out into the night. The gulf doesn’t reach this far inland, so the Texas heat sizzles up from the asphalt. It smells like home. Like tar, exhaust, and fear. I was always afraid when I was a kid. Nervous and jittery. I was the same way when I was a teenager, but it stopped controlling my life when I started drinking heavily in high school. I hold my hand out and watch it, daring it to shake.

“Better not shake,” I whisper, watching my hand blur in and out of focus.

My Corvette is where I left it. I’m shocked. This far inland isn’t known for benevolence. I should know, I was made this far inland. I try to shove my key in the lock, but the damn hole won’t stay still.

“Go in!” I brace myself against the car. “Just go in. Please go in. Fucking eyes. Like I would sleep with her. Little Miss Perfect. What the hell did I ever do? I was seven. I’ll tell you one thing. This key’s too big.” I hold the key up to the street lamps. Yep. Too big. “When did my key get big?” Probably when Forty-something poured me my last shot.

I’ll walk.

I wonder what Justine’s doing. It’s been exactly twenty-four hours since I had any ass. Twenty-four hours too long if you ask me. I trip over my feet. Trip again. A leggy redhead walking with her friends stops to steady me. I want her ass, but this is where it gets strange. She doesn’t smile when she looks into my eyes like every other girl before her. She doesn’t bite her lip and touch her hair. She actually looks sad. Is she sad for me or sad for herself? I’m fucking great. What does she know? What does anyone know?

I don’t know for sure when I get home. I just know I’m there when I fall into my bed and everything fades to black.

“Arg,” I groan in the morning. Rolling over is way too hard.

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” I flirt, patting the toilet bowl a few minutes later. My stomach rolls and my sides scream in pain, effectively dismantling me. I sag against the toilet and take deep measured breaths, staring at the upturned bathroom rug like it’s got answers I wasn’t aware I wanted until Dylan left.

As I crawl from the bathroom to the living room I pause in front of his room. I miss his square ass. “Get your shit together, Bach,” I pretend he says. I give him the finger and lift my body onto the couch.

Just as I’m reaching for the remote someone pounds on the door. “Come in!” I call, since it’d probably take me a week to crawl over and open it.

Jona and Justine come in. Jona doesn’t say anything, he just sits in the gaming chair with his bag of food. Justine pauses when our eyes meet and frowns. I don’t like that frown.

“What?” I bark.

“Nothing, Bach.” She sits on the edge of the couch and touches my face with her hand, rubbing her palm against my cheek. “You look so bad right now. What’d you do last night?”

I knock her hand away. “That for me?” I eye the fast food bag in her hands.

“Here.” She bitchily shoves it at my face. Then she slides down to sit on the floor instead of sitting next to me. “Dick.”

I
am
a dick. She already knows that.

I peel back the paper on my burger and take a huge bite, moaning in pleasure at the taste. I don’t normally eat like this. This shit won’t give me abs, but I don’t care right now. I don’t think I ate at all yesterday. As Jona flips through the channels and Justine stews, I down my meal. The burger and fries hit my stomach like bricks, giving it something to hold on to.

I reach over Justine’s shoulder and grab some of her fries. “Forgive me,” I whisper, kissing her cheek. Then her neck. Her jaw. She gives in like I knew she would. “Thanks for bringing me lunch.”

She turns her head to kiss me. The salt from my fingers smears on her face when I hold her. When she pulls back she smiles. “Guess what?”

“You’re pregnant?”

Jona guffaws, spitting burger all over my living room. “Could you imagine her being a mom?”

Hurt fills Justine’s eyes. “Never mind,” she says, turning forward.

“Jona? Apologize.”

“What?” He looks at me weird. “Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t I’m going to kick your ass. Tell Justine you’re sorry. Tell her it’s not her fault you’re mom dropped you on your head when you missed her tit. Now.”

Jona shakes his head like I’ve lost it. I probably have. “Sorry, Jus.”

She glares at him, sexy brown eyes burning.

“What were you going to say?” I then ask her.

“I’m going to sing tonight at Flutes. I thought you might want to come and watch me. You know, after our conversation the other day.”

Was that the other day? It feels like ten years ago. Justine’s just a girl I hook up with. She knows it. Yet I feel guilty even considering telling her no for some reason. “I’d love to, Jus. What time?”

“My slot’s at seven. You don’t have to go,” she says, shrugging. “I thought I’d ask.” But she gives me a hopeful look anyway.

I reach over and wipe the salt off her face. “I’ll go.”

“I’m not. I’m hosting a party for one of the frat houses.” He rubs his fingers together. “Good money, bro. You want in?”

I think about the other thousand dollars I need for rent. “I can come after?”

“Nope,” he says, being a dick. “Gotta do the whole thing. I need help setting up the stage and getting the band there. After’s not going to work.”

Why do I have to care how Justine feels? I retain my sigh and give in. “Screw it. I’ll book my own party.”

Right before I turn away, I catch Justine’s smile. What the hell? It’s been longer than twenty-four hours, my dick’s going through withdrawal. I tap her with my knee. When she looks at me, I motion toward my room. Without even thinking about it she gets up. I follow. Jona rolls his eyes. I grab my crotch and shove it in his face.

“Get that thing away from me.”

“Bring it here,” Justine purrs, grabbing my waistband on my jeans and pulling me down the hall and into my bedroom. She keeps the momentum going and I fall on top of her on my bed. “I want it.”

“I’m out of here. Find your own way home!” Jona shouts, slamming my front door so hard my windows shake.

I grab Justine’s hips and push her legs apart, sliding between them as she wraps her legs around my waist. I wiggle my jeans down and pull her shirt over her head. Without breaking our kiss, I reach into my drawer and grab a condom out of the box. I slip it on and toss the wrapper over my shoulder. Justine buries her face in my neck. I spit into my hand and slide it over me, using that same hand to guide myself inside of her. It’s exactly what I need. This intense sense of release knocks into me. I drop all of my weight onto her and thrust into her roughly. The feel of my body slamming into hers, the sound of us moaning, nails digging into skin, reminds me yet again that I don’t need anything else but this. She loves it. Begs for it.

“Harder, Bach, I want to feel you.”

If this is what I need, does Justine need it too? And if so, why? What is she running from?

I stop suddenly and open my eyes.

“Don’t stop,” she orders, urging me on. “Why are you stopping?” Her nails grind into my ass.

What do I care if she needs it or not? All that matters is that I need it. So I push into her deeper, deeper, until we both fall over the edge.

I don’t feel better when we’re done. Usually I do. I rip the condom off and make a perfect shot into the garbage can across the room.

“That was stu-fucking-pendous,” she exhales, running her hand over my chest.

No it wasn’t. Let’s just call it what it was: desperate. Nothing I do is enough lately. Every drink ends too fast. Every girl is over when I come. Each pill is gone once I swallow it. Doing all three isn’t even working anymore.

“Bach?”

“What, Jus?” I want her to get out of my bed.
Go
, I think.
Leave.

“I was thinking … ”

I roll my eyes at the ceiling, feeling like I’m covered in slime. I can smell her perfume all over my body. “What perfume are you wearing?”

“It’s called Entice. You like it?”

No. It smells like sugar and cheap flowers. “Yeah,” I lie.

“Good.” She kisses my lips. “So I was thinking?” she begins again. “You’re not seeing anyone, like seriously right now, are you?”

I look at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“We’ve been hooking up a lot lately. I know it was just sex at first, but … ”

I laugh. I can’t help it. Is she high? “It’s still just sex.”

She tenses. “Bach.”

This always happens. Can’t two people use each other and be okay with it? Why does there have to be more? I thought Justine understood this. “We can’t date.”

“Why not?” she demands, sitting up.

“Because I’ll cheat on you. Then I’ll lie about it. I’ll make you think you’re crazy. I’ll make you hate me so much even my name makes you want to puke. Ask my ex.”

“Which one?” she grumbles. “Why would you do that?”

I shrug. “It’s what I do.” It’s what I know. “Why do you do it?”

She grabs her shirt and puts it back on. “I don’t know.”

I do the same. I need a shower. This time the mark she left on me makes me avoid the mirror over my closet door. I don’t want to see our reflection reflected in it.

Since when does Bach Bachmen avoid Bach Bachmen?

“Just go, Jus.”

Just go.

“Good luck!” I call after her as she leaves. “Sing your heart out tonight!”

After all, twenty-four hours is a long ways away.

Harley

I can spot shapes in my ceiling now.

There’s a bird in the corner by my window, I can see a kite on the other side by my door, and over my bed I notice a wave. I roll over and try to find more. Then I roll over again. My room is covered in shapes. They stare at me so I pull my blankets over my head.

When my cell phone chirps I jerk and scramble to answer it. It’s the loudest thing I’ve heard in days. Dylan’s picture flashes across the screen.

Everything in me wants to answer it. I want answers. And not the ones he already gave me. I want new ones that make perfect sense, but I know he isn’t going to give them to me. I ignore his call like I’ve done since he told me he was leaving.

Silence returns.

The rational part of me knows I should get out of bed. It’s summer break. I’m in college. I have every excuse in the world to relinquish my inhibitions and create memories that will make me cringe when I have kids. It’s my right. It’s not what I want. I want Dylan to come back, for him to fix what he broke. And if he can’t fix it, I want him to spend the rest of his life apologizing for shattering me after promising to put me back together.

I wished I could ask my dad for advice. He was gone a lot growing up in my later years after the war started, but before that he was always there when I needed him. “Har,” he’d say. “Don’t end up with anyone who makes you miss your father.” I missed my father. I missed him even with Dylan. If not more so, because I swore up and down Dad would’ve loved him. What would he say to me now?

“Har,” I pretend to hear, closing my eyes as a tear slides down my cheek, “get your ass out of bed, Sweet Pea.”