After We Fell (23 page)

“Consequences?” He stares down at me with burning eyes. “I've known nothing in my life but consequences.”

I hate the way he's taking credit for my internship, I hate the way he pushes when I pull and I push when he pulls. I hate the
way he drives my anger to grow so strong that I would try to slap him, and I hate the way I feel as if I'm losing control of something I'm not sure I've ever held. I look up at him, his hand still holding my wrist, using only enough pressure to keep me from attempting to slap him again, and he looks hurt, in a dangerous way. There's a challenge behind his eyes that makes my stomach turn.

He brings my hand to his chest, his eyes never leaving mine, and says, “You know nothing of consequences.”

Then he walks away from me, that look still in his eyes, and my hand drops down to my side.

W
ho the fuck does she think she is?
She thinks just because I don't want to go to Seattle with her that she can say shit like this to me? She doesn't want me to fucking go?

She fucking uninvited me to Seattle, and she's the one trying to slap me? I don't fucking think so. I was only seeing red as I spoke, and her trying to hit me surprised me—a lot. I left her with wide eyes, her pupils blown in rage, but I had to get as far from that bullshit as I could.

I find myself at the small coffee shop in town. The coffee tastes like tar, and the weird-ass muffin I got is even worse. I hate this bullshit small town and its lack of every goddamn thing.

I tear three sugar packets at once and dump them into the disgusting coffee, stirring it with a plastic spoon. It's too early for this shit.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice greets. Not the voice I wanted to hear, though.

“Why are you here?” I roll my eyes and ask Lillian as she comes around from behind me.

“Well,
you
obviously aren't a morning person,” she says saccharinely and takes the seat in front of me.

“Go away,” I huff and look around the small café. A line has formed nearly to the door, and almost all of the tables are full. I should probably do everyone in line a favor and tell them to find a fucking Starbucks, because this place blows.

She eyes me. “You didn't apologize, did you.”

“God, you are so damn nosy.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, and she smiles.

“Are you going to finish that?” She gestures to the rock-hard muffin in front of me.

I slide it over to her, and she tears off a piece. “I wouldn't eat that,” I warn, but she does anyway.

“It's not that bad,” she lies. I can tell she wants to spit it out, but instead she swallows it down. “So are you going to tell me why you didn't apologize to Tamara?”

“Her fucking name is Tessa, if you call her—”

“Whoa, calm down. Joke, joke! I was just messing with you.” She giggles, proud of her annoying self.

“Ha. Ha.” I down the rest of my coffee.

“Anyway, why didn't you?”

“I don't know.”

“Yes, you do,” she presses.

“Why do you care, anyway?” I lean toward her, and she sits back in the chair.

“I don't know . . . because you seem to love her, and you're my friend.”

“Your
friend
? I don't even know you, and you sure as hell don't know me,” I declare.

Her neutral expression falters for a moment, and she blinks her eyes slowly. If she cries, I'm going to punch someone. I can't handle this much drama this early in the fucking morning.

“Look, you're cool and all. But this”—I gesture back and forth between her body and mine—“isn't a friendship. I don't have friendships.”

She tilts her head to the side. “You don't have any friends? Not even one?”

“No, I have people I party with and Tessa.”

“You should have friends; at least one.”

“What would be the point of you and me being friends? We're only here until tomorrow afternoon.”

She shrugs. “We could be friends until then.”

“You obviously don't have any friends either.”

“Not many. Riley doesn't seem to like them.”

“And? Why does that matter?”

“Because I don't want to start a fight with her, so I just don't hang out with them much.”

“Sorry, but Riley sounds like a bitch.”

“Don't say that about her.” Lillian's cheeks flush, and for the first time since I met her she's exhibiting an emotion besides calmness or omniscience.

I play with my cup smoothly, kind of glad to get a rise out of her. “Just saying. I wouldn't let someone tell me who I can and can't be friends with.”

“So you're telling me that Tessa has friends she hangs out with besides you?” She raises her brow, and I look away to think about her question.

She has friends . . . she has Landon. “Yes.”

“You don't count.”

“No, not me. Landon.”

“Landon is your stepbrother; he doesn't count.”

Steph is sort of Tessa's friend but not really, and Zed . . . not a problem anymore. “She has me,” I say.

She smirks. “That's exactly what I thought.”

“What does it matter? Once we get away from here, and start over, she can make new friends. We can make new friends together.”

“Sure. The problem is that you aren't going to the same place,” she reminds me.

“She'll come with me. I know it doesn't seem like it, but you don't know her. I do, and I know she can't live without me.”

Lillian looks up at me with thoughtful eyes. “You know, there's a big difference between not being able to live without someone and loving them.”

This chick doesn't even know what she's talking about—she makes no sense. “I don't want to talk about her anymore; if we're going to be friends, I need to know about you and Regan.”

“Riley,” she says sharply.

I chuckle lightly. “Annoying, isn't it?”

Lillian glowers playfully at me, but then tells me all about how she met her girlfriend. They were partnered up together for Lillian's freshman orientation. Riley had been rude at first but later made a move on her, surprising both of them. Apparently this Riley has a jealous streak and a temper. Sounds familiar.

“Most of our fights stem from her jealousy. She's always afraid that I'll stray from her. I don't know why, because she's the one always getting attention from everyone, male and female, and she's dated both.” She sighs. “So it's sort of like everyone's fair game.”

“You haven't?”

“No, I've never dated a guy.” She crinkles her nose. “Well, once in eighth grade, because I felt like I had to. My friends were hassling me for never having a boyfriend.”

“Why didn't you just tell them?” I ask her.

“It's not that simple.”

“It should be.”

She smiles. “Yes, it should be. But it's not. Anyway, I've never dated anyone except Riley and one other girl.” Then her smile disappears. “Riley's dated a lot.”

THE REST OF MY MORNING
and the entire afternoon is spent this way, listening to this girl's problems. I don't mind as much as I thought, though. It's nice to know I'm not the only one with these types of issues. Lillian reminds me a lot of Tessa and Landon. If
they were morphed into one person, it would certainly be Lillian. I hate to admit it, but I don't mind her company too much. She's an outsider, like me, but she doesn't judge me, because she barely knows me. Strangers come and go, in and out of the coffee shop, and each time a blonde steps in, I can't help but look up, hoping it will be
my
blond stranger.

A funny little tune starts to play. “That would be my dad calling . . .” Lillian says and looks down at her phone. “Shit, it's almost five,” she says, panicked. “We need to go. Well, I need to go. I still don't have anything to wear tonight.”

“For what?” I ask her when she stands up.

“Dinner. You knew we're going to dinner with your parents, didn't you?”

“Karen isn't my . . .” I begin but decide to let it go. She knows.

I get up and follow her down the block to a small clothing store filled with colorful dresses and gaudy jewelry. It smells like mothballs and salt water.

“There's nothing to choose from,” she groans, holding up a bright pink frilly dress.

“That's hideous,” I tell her, and she nods, hanging it back up.

I can't help but think of what Tessa is doing right now. Is she wondering where I am? I'm sure she assumes that I'm with Lillian, which is true, but she doesn't have anything to worry about. She knows this.

Wait . . . no, she doesn't. I haven't told her about Lillian's girlfriend.

“Tessa doesn't know you're gay,” I blurt as she shows me a black beaded dress.

She looks at me smoothly and just sweeps her hand across the dress again, kind of like she did with the brandy bottle last night.

“I'm not giving you fashion advice here, so stop trying,” I groan.

She rolls her eyes. “So why didn't you tell her?”

I poke at this feather necklace thing. “I don't know, I didn't think about it.”

“Well, I'm oh-so-flattered that my orientation was so unnnotable to you,” she says with feigned gratitude and a spread hand at her neck. “But you really should tell her.” She smiles. “No wonder she almost backhanded you.”

I knew I shouldn't have told her about the slap.

“Shut up. I'll tell her . . .” Although it might work in my favor not to, actually. “Maybe,” I add.

Lillian rolls her eyes, again. She rolls her eyes almost as much as Tessa does.

“She's difficult, and I know what I'm doing, okay?” I think I do, at least. I know exactly how to push her buttons to get what I want.

“You need to dress up tonight; the place we're going is disgustingly fancy,” she warns me while eyeing the dress with a twist of the hanger.

“Hell no, I'm not. What makes you think I'm going, anyway?”

“Why not? You want to make the missus a little less pissed off, don't you?”

The sound of her words throws me off for a moment. “ ‘The missus'? Don't call her that.”

She slaps a white button-up against my chest. “Just wear a nice shirt at least, otherwise my dad will give you shit about it all night,” she says and steps into the dressing room.

A few minutes later she comes out in the black dress. It looks good on her—she's hot and all—but I immediately start fantasizing about how Tessa would look in it. It would be much tighter: Tessa's boobs are much bigger than Lillian's, Tessa's hips are a little wider, so she would fill the dress much better.

“It's not as ugly as the rest of the shit in here,” I half compliment, and she closes the curtain with yet another eye roll and a middle finger.

I
stare into the long mirror and ask Landon, “Are you sure this looks okay?”

“Yes, it's fine,” he says with a smile. “Can we try to remember that I'm a guy, though?”

I sigh, then chuckle. “I know. I'm sorry. It's not my fault you're my only friend.”

The dark sparkly dress feels odd against my skin; the material is hard, and the small beads scratch me a little when I move. The small clothing boutique in town didn't have much to choose from, and I surely wasn't going to pick the hot-pink dress made entirely of tulle. I need something to wear to this dreaded dinner tonight, and Hardin's suggestion that I wear jeans isn't going to work.

“Do you think he'll even come back before it's time to leave?” I ask Landon.

Hardin took off, as always, after our fight and hasn't been back since. He hasn't called or texted either. He's probably with the mystery girl with whom he loves to discuss our problems. You know, the girl he can talk to better than he can talk to his own girlfriend. In his anger, I wouldn't be surprised if he did something with her to spite me.

No . . . he wouldn't.

“I don't know, honestly,” Landon says. “I hope he does. My mom will be disappointed if he doesn't.”

“Yeah.” I push another pin into my bun and grab my mascara off of the bathroom counter.

“He'll come around, he's just stubborn.”

“I don't know if
we
will, though.” I sweep the small brush across my lashes. “I'm reaching my breaking point, I can feel it. You know what I felt last night when he told me he was with another girl?”

“What?” He stares blankly at me.

“I think this is just the end of the turbulent love story.” I try to make a joke, but it falls flat.

“It's weird hearing you say that, you of all people,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“A little angry, but that's it. It's like I'm numb to it now, to all of it. I just don't have it in me to keep doing this over and over. I'm beginning to think he's a lost cause, and that breaks my heart,” I say, forbidding myself from crying.

“Nobody's a lost cause. They just think they are, so they don't even bother to try sometimes.”

“Are you guys ready?” Karen's voice calls from the living room, and Landon assures her that we'll be down any minute. I slide on my new pair of black heels with straps at the ankles. Unfortunately, they're as uncomfortable as they look. It's times like this that I miss wearing Toms every day.

Hardin still hasn't returned by the time we pile into the car. “We can't wait any longer,” Ken says through a disappointed frown.

“It's fine, we can bring him something back,” Karen sweetly offers, knowing that's not the solution but trying her best to calm her husband's irritation.

Landon looks over at me, and I offer a smile to assure him that I'm fine. He tries to distract me the whole drive talking about various students we know, making little jokes about how
they are in class. Especially some of the ones in the religion course.