Beautiful Disaster (38 page)

“Hey! I know you!” Another man yelled into my ear.

I leaned away, recognizing him right away. It was Ethan, the man Travis threatened at the bar—the man that had somehow escaped sexual assault charges.

“Yeah,” I said, looking for a hole in the crowd as I straightened my shirt.

“That's a nice bracelet,” he said, running his hand down my arm and grabbing my wrist.

“Hey,” I warned, pulling my hand away.

He rubbed my arm, swaying and grinning. “We were rudely interrupted last time I tried to talk to you.”

I stood on my tiptoes, seeing Travis land two blows into Brady's face. He scanned the crowd between each one. He was looking for me instead of focusing on the fight. I had to get back to my spot before he was too distracted.

I had barely made headway into the crowd when Ethan's fingers dug into the back of my jeans. My back slammed into the wall once more.

“I wasn't finished talking to you,” Ethan said, scanning my wet shirt.

I pulled his hand from the back of my jeans, digging in my nails. “Let go!” I yelled when he resisted.

Ethan laughed and pulled me against him. “I don't wanna let go.”

I scanned the crowd for a familiar face, trying to push Ethan away at the same time. His arms were heavy, and his grip was tight. In a panic, I couldn't distinguish State students from Easterners. No one seemed to notice my scuffle with Ethan, and it was so loud no one could hear me protest, either. He leaned in, reaching his hand around to my backside.

“I always thought you'd be a nice piece of ass,” he said, breathing stale beer in my face.

“Get OFF!” I screamed, pushing him.

I looked for Shepley, and saw that Travis had finally picked me out of the crowd. He instantly pushed against the packed bodies surrounding him.

“Travis!” I screamed, but it was muffled against the cheering. I pushed Ethan with one hand and reached for Travis with the other.

Travis made little progress before being shoved back into the Circle. Brady took advantage of Travis's distraction and rammed an elbow in the side of his head.

The crowd quieted down a bit when Travis punched someone in the crowd, trying once again to get to me.

“Get the fuck off her!” Travis yelled.

In a line between where I stood and Travis's desperate attempt to reach me, heads turned in my direction. Ethan was oblivious, trying to keep me still long enough to kiss me. He ran his nose across my cheekbone and then down my neck.

“You smell really good,” he slurred.

I pushed his face away, but he grabbed my wrist, unfazed.

Wide-eyed, I searched for Travis again. He desperately pointed me out to Shepley. “Get her! Shep! Get Abby!” he said, still trying to push through the crowd. Brady pulled him back into the circle and punched him again.

“You're fucking hot, you know that?” Ethan said.

I closed my eyes when I felt his mouth on my neck. Anger welled up within me and I pushed him
again. “I said get OFF!” I yelled, ramming my knee into his groin.

He doubled over, one hand automatically flying to the source of the pain, the other still gripping my shirt, refusing to let go.

“You bitch!” he cried.

In the next moment, I was free. Shepley's eyes were wild, staring into Ethan's as he gripped him by the collar of his shirt. He held Ethan against the wall while he nailed him with his fist repeatedly in the face, stopping only when the blood poured from Ethan's mouth and nose.

Shepley pulled me to the stairs, shoving anyone who stood in his path. He helped me through an open window, and then down a fire escape, catching me when I leapt the few feet to the ground.

“You okay, Abby? Did he hurt you?” Shepley asked.

One sleeve of my white sweater hung only by a few threads; otherwise I had escaped unscathed. I shook my head, still stunned.

Shepley gently took my cheeks in his hands, looking into my eyes. “Abby, answer me. Are you all right?”

I nodded. As the adrenaline absorbed into my blood stream, the tears began to flow. “I'm okay.”

He hugged me, pressing his cheek against my forehead, and then stiffened. “Over here, Trav!”

Travis ran at us full speed, slowing only when had me in his arms. He was covered in blood, his eye dripping and his mouth spattered with red.

“Jesus Christ … is she hurt?” he asked.

Shepley's hand was still on my back. “She said she's okay.”

Travis held me at arm's length by my shoulders and frowned. “Are you hurt, Pidge?”

Just as I shook my head, I saw the first of the mob from the basement trickling down from the fire escape. Travis kept me tight in his arms, silently scanning the faces. A short, squat man hopped down from the ladder and froze when he noticed us standing on the sidewalk.

“You,” Travis snarled.

He let me go, running across the grass, tackling the man to the ground.

I looked to Shepley, confused and horrified.

“That's the guy that kept shoving Travis back in the Circle,” Shepley said.

A small crowd gathered around them as they scuffled on the ground. Travis pounded his fist into the man's face over and over. Shepley pulled me into his chest, still panting. The man stopped fighting back, and Travis left him on the ground in a bloody heap. Those gathered around him fanned out, giving Travis a wide berth, seeing the rage in his eyes.

“Travis!” Shepley yelled, pointing to the other side of the building.

Ethan hobbled in the shadows, using the brick wall of Hellerton to hold himself up. When he heard Shepley yell for Travis, he turned just in time to see his assailant charge. Ethan limped across the lawn, throwing down the beer bottle in his hands and moving as fast as his legs could carry him to the street. Just as he reached his car, Travis grabbed him and slammed him against it.

Ethan pleaded with Travis, even as Travis gripped his shirt and rammed his head into the car door. The begging was cut off with the loud thud of his skull against the windshield, and then Travis pulled him to the front of the car and shattered the headlight with Ethan's face. Travis launched him onto the hood, pressing his face into the metal while shouting obscenities.

“Shit,” Shepley said. I turned to see Hellerton glow blue and red from the lights of a quickly approaching police cruiser. Droves of people jumped from the landing, forming a human waterfall down the fire escape, and a flurry of running students burst into every direction.

“Travis!” I screamed.

Travis left Ethan's limp body on the hood of the car to sprint toward us. Shepley pulled me to the parking lot, ripping open his door. I jumped into the back seat, anxiously waiting for them both to get in. Cars flew from their spots and out of the driveway, screeching to a halt when a second police car blocked the drive.

Travis and Shepley jumped into their seats, and Shepley cursed when he saw the trapped cars backing from the only exit. He slammed the car into drive, and the Charger bounced as it jumped the curb. He spun out over the grass, and we flew between two buildings, bouncing again when he hit the road behind the school.

The tires squealed and the engine snarled when Shepley slammed his foot on the accelerator. I slid across the seat into the wall of the cab when we took a turn, bumping my already sore elbow. The streetlights
streaked across the window as we raced to the apartment, but it seemed like an hour had passed by the time we pulled into the parking lot.

Shepley threw the Charger into park, and turned off the ignition. The boys opened their doors in silence, and Travis reached into the back seat, lifting me into his arms.

“What happened? Holy shit, Trav, what happened to your face?” America said, running down the stairs.

“I'll tell you inside,” Shepley said, guiding her to the door.

Travis carried me up the stairs, through the living room and down the hall without a word, setting me on his bed. Toto pawed at my legs, jumping onto the bed to lick my face.

“Not now, buddy,” Travis said in a hushed voice, taking the puppy to the hall and shutting the door.

He kneelt in front of me, touching the frayed edges of my sleeve. His eye was in the beginning stages of a bruise, red and swollen. The angry skin above it was cut and wet with blood. His lips were smeared with scarlet, and the hide had been ripped away from some of his knuckles. His once-white T-shirt was now soiled with a combination of blood, grass and dirt.

I touched his eye and he winced, pulling away from my hand. “I'm so sorry, Pigeon. I tried to get to you. I tried …” He cleared his throat of the anger and worry that choked him. “I couldn't get to you.”

“Will you ask America to take me back to Morgan?” I said.

“You can't go back there tonight. The place is crawling with cops. Just stay here. I'll sleep on the couch.”

I sucked in a faltering breath, trying to ward off any more tears. He felt bad enough.

Travis stood up and opened the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I've gotta get a shower. I'll be right back.”

America shoved past him, sitting beside me on the bed, pulling me into her chest. “I'm so sorry I wasn't there!” she cried.

“I'm fine,” I said, wiping my tear stained face.

Shepley knocked on the door as he entered, bringing me a short glass half full of whiskey.

“Here,” he said, handing it to America. She cupped my hands around it and nudged me.

I tipped back my head, letting the liquid flow down my throat. My face compressed as the whiskey burned its way to my stomach. “Thanks,” I said, handing the glass back to Shepley.

“I should have gotten to her sooner. I didn't even realize she was gone. I'm sorry, Abby. I should've …”

“It's not your fault, Shep. It's not anyone's fault.”

“It's Ethan's fault,” he seethed. “That sick bastard was dry-fucking her against the wall.”

“Baby!” America said, appalled. She pulled me to her side.

“I need another drink,” I said, shoving my empty glass at Shepley.

“Me, too,” Shepley said, returning to the kitchen.

Travis walked in with a towel around his waist, holding a cold can of beer against his eye. America left the room without a word as Travis slipped on his
boxers, and then he grabbed his pillow. Shepley brought four glasses this time, all full to the brim with amber liquor. We all knocked back the whiskey without hesitation.

“I'll see you in the morning,” America said, kissing my cheek.

Travis took my glass, setting it on the nightstand. He watched me for a moment and then walked over to his closet, pulling a T-shirt off the hanger and tossing it to the bed.

“I'm sorry I'm such a fuckup,” he said, holding the beer to his eye.

“You look awful. You're going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

He shook his head, disgusted. “Abby, you were attacked tonight. Don't worry about me.”

“It's hard not to when your eye is swelling shut,” I said, situating his shirt on my lap.

His jaw tensed. “It wouldn't've happened if I'd just let you stay with Parker. But I knew if I asked you, you'd come. I wanted to show him that you were still mine, and then you get hurt.”

The words took me off guard, as if I hadn't heard him right. “That's why you ask me to come tonight? To prove a point to Parker?”

“It was part of it,” he said, ashamed.

The blood drained from my face. For the first time since we'd met, Travis had fooled me. I had gone to Hellerton with him thinking he needed me, thinking that despite everything, we were back to where we were before. I was nothing more than a water hydrant; he had marked his territory, and I had allowed him to do it.

My eyes filled with tears. “Get out.”

“Pigeon,” he said, taking a step toward me.

“Get OUT!” I said, grabbing the glass from the nightstand and throwing it at him. He ducked, and it shattered against the wall in hundreds of tiny, glistening shards. “I hate you!”

Travis heaved as if the air had been knocked out of him, and with a pained expression, he left me alone.

I yanked off my clothes and pulled the T-shirt on. The noise that burst from my throat surprised me. It had been a long time since I had sobbed uncontrollably. Within moments, America rushed into the room.

She crawled into the bed and wrapped her arms around me. She didn't ask questions or try to console me she only held me as I let the tears drench the pillowcase.

Just before the sun breached the horizon, America and I quietly left the apartment behind. We didn't speak on the way to Morgan. I was glad for the silence. I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to think, I just wanted to block out the last twelve hours. My body felt heavy and sore, as if I'd been in a car accident. When we walked into my room, I saw that Kara's bed was made.

“Can I stick around a while? I need to borrow your flatiron.” America asked.

“Mare, I'm fine. Go to class.”

“You're not fine. I don't want to leave you alone right now.”

“That's all I want to be at the moment.”

She opened her mouth to argue but sighed. There would be no changing my mind. “I'm coming back to check on you after class. Get some rest.”

I nodded, locking the door behind her. The bed squeaked beneath me as I fell onto it with a huff. All along I believed that I was important to Travis, that he needed me. But in that moment, I felt like the shiny new toy Parker said I was. He wanted to prove to Parker that I was still his. His.

“I'm nobody's,” I said to the empty room.

As the words sunk in, I was overwhelmed with the grief I'd felt from the night before. I belonged to no one.

I'd never felt so alone in my life.

Finch set a brown bottle in front of me. Neither of us felt like celebrating, but I was at least comforted by the fact that, according to America, Travis would avoid the date party at all costs. Red and pink craft paper covered empty beer cans hanging from the ceiling, and red dresses in every style walked past. The tables were covered with tiny foil hearts, and Finch rolled his eyes at the ridiculous decorations.