Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) (21 page)

“Breathe,” I ordered when she started to panic. “Things are rough right now for all of us, huh?” She nodded miserably. “Tell me about Hillary.”

“If you looked in the mirror you’d be the same.”

That hit me so hard I felt my stomach turn. Was Hillary that lost? Of course she was. She’d said it, I’d witnessed it. Of course she was drifting. “Is Zane in jail?”

She met my eyes. “For what? He didn’t
actually
do anything.”

Her words settled squarely in my guts. “You’re kidding me.”

“No. They have a protective order against him, and they’re pursuing charges. The DA is trying to summon witnesses, but Jona has criminal charges in the past, which make him a terrible witness, and Justine never actually saw Zane in the room. He took off out of the window. The room was empty when she and Jona busted in. There’s no way of knowing he put the drugs in her bottle. No one will come forward. All they’ll charge him for, if they get him at all, is for hitting her. They can’t prove Zane put the drugs in her bottle. Basically, it’s her word against his. Who would believe her when they can believe the star quarterback?”

Blistering rage settled over me. “So he took an angel, broke her wings, and gets to walk away to do it again?” Fury filled me. On the edge of that was this overwhelming desire to see her, to prove to her that she wasn’t broken. She’d fallen, but she could get up again.

She could fly.

Harley nodded, eyes shifting strangely. “Dylan?”

“What?” I asked warily.

“Why did she come over here last week?”

“She had no other option. She’s mad at her mom. Bach’s on her mom’s side. I was the only person she had.”

“She has me. Bach’s there no matter what. Her mom is on her side. I think she came over here for a different reason.”

“What?” I frowned. What was she getting at?

“I think she came over here for you.” She gave me a pointed look.

“Your point?”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we all went out tonight. We can go to dinner. Go to the movies or something. It’ll be like a double date.”

My eyes flashed. “Date?”

“Yes. A date.” Again, that look. “Isn’t Hillary attractive, Dylan?”

“Harley.”

“Yes or no?”

I forgot how annoyingly persistent she could be. “Hillary’s not attractive.” Her face fell. “She’s perfect.” The breath left my lungs, and she grinned knowingly. “She’s fucking perfect, all right?”

“Don’t you want to go on a date with her?”

“I don’t date.”

“You dated me.”

“Yeah, well, you were special.”

Her face softened. “She’s special too. Otherwise, you’d never have let her into your house. I bet she’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Bullshit. Look at me.” I stared down at myself. I was a hairy, smelly, sweaty, bleeding, pathetic mess. “I’m hideous.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“She’s eighteen.”

“So what. You’re only twenty-two. Happy birthday, by the way.” Her smile was saccharine.

Dweeb. “It’s not like that. It won’t or can’t be like that. She had no one. I was here. That’s all that was.”

“So like movies and dinner? Or maybe something else. We can go to Houston and go to a concert. Maybe even stop at my house and put Aubrey to bed before we leave …”

My head snapped up. “Aubrey?”

“Mhm. She’s been drawing you pictures. She hangs it on Daddy’s wall. Pictures of you with Band-Aids on your leg, pictures of you kissing her, pictures of you playing peek-a-boo. She misses you, Dylan. Don’t you want to go on a date with Hillary and put your daughter to sleep?”

“Stop.” My chest was aching.

“We were watching
Despicable
Me
the other day and she wanted to know where her daddy was. Of course she kept running around making fart noises when she was done, but she asked, and that’s all that matters. How much longer does she have to go without you?”

“Harley!” I snapped, but she’s in love with Bach, and my snap was probably her idea of playful banter.

My ex-girlfriend looked different too, more confident. Sexy because she was. She was an equal opponent, not the loser in whatever game they played. She wasn’t the woman I left.
This
was a woman who knew who she was and what she was doing. She also apparently had motives here, and I’d played right into her hand.

“Yes?” she asked sweetly.

“Let’s get some things straight. One? We’re not good just because I played into your hand. You still betrayed me.” I gave her a hard look. “Two? I don’t date. I don’t want to date Hillary. I want to help her, but I can’t even do that, so it’s best she and I part ways before I can make it worse. So don’t get any more damn ideas. And last? I’ll go to your place because I want my kid. That’s it.”

She thought about it, chewing on her bottom lip, eyes contemplative. “One? I didn’t betray you. You betrayed me. Let it go. Two? I think Hillary’s perfect for you. So you will go on a date tonight, or the last option won’t happen. How’s that?”

“Why are you trying to push us together? Don’t you care about her? Why would you put her in this world?”

“Because she came to this house for you. For you,” she stressed. “Out of all the people in the world she chose Dylan Meyer. Why?”

What was her point here? I stared into her eyes. “She won’t make your absence easier if that’s what you’re doing.”

“I’m not,” she assured me softly. “I’m just trying to help. Let me help you.”

I kept my mouth shut, effectively slamming the door on this conversation. She sighed and sat back, grabbing the remote from where I’d left it on the couch.

As she scrolled through the recorded shows her frown deepened. “Dylan?”

“Hmm?” It was my turn to grin.

“You deleted my shows?”

“Yup.”

Her rage unleashed on me. “Call me a whore. Fine. Say I betrayed you. Okay. But delete my shows? That’s too low for words. I had full seasons on here!”

“I’m sorry for calling you that. You are not a whore, Harley.” I summoned the courage. “Please forgive me?”

The rage in her light brown eyes faded. “Of course, I forgive you. You have to forgive yourself now.” She put on a chick-flick, grinned like a bad girl, and then sat back, giggling at the TV like nothing mattered.

I peeked at her occasionally. Accepting that Harley was gone was half the battle. Accepting I did this to myself was another thing completely. Why would I care about this man, this bastard?

I free fell into this because I lied to get out. And it wasn’t as if there were truths waiting to help me.

I’d have to find a way, even though I’d been searching for one my entire life.

***

Hillary

It was so quiet it was deafening.

My pulse hammered. My thoughts screamed. And my memories writhed, taunting, twisting around my cerebral cortex like a parasite sucking the life out of me, making it so everything I thought was about the one thing I didn’t want to think.

The inside of the apartment was quiet, but my insides were unbearably loud. Quietness was louder than noise. It was consuming, making my ears bleed with what I couldn’t hear.

I rolled over in bed and stared at the wall. Mom had left for work a couple hours ago, and despite my promise, I hadn’t showered, changed, or gotten out of bed. Truthfully? I didn’t even mind. I smelled? So. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for days? And? Get out of bed? For what? I drifted between sleep and nightmares, between the smell of vodka and the sound of my screams. Mom had stayed home for as long as she could, but the bills were piling up and I was getting to the point where I’d rather speak to the walls. They didn’t talk back. They didn’t know what happened.

In the front of the house, there was a noise. I listened intently, waiting for him to come and get me. My stomach turned, and I whimpered, too tired to move. I couldn’t fight him this time.

“Hillary?”

My panic left in a whoosh. I waited for Bach to find me. When he did, I didn’t acknowledge him. He’d been coming over almost every night to sleep on the couch. I liked him on the couch. I felt safer with him here. I needed some form of protection with Zane still out there.

He sat on the end of my bed and removed the hair from my face, and then he cupped my face gently. “I called.”

My phone was on silent under the bed.

I. Didn’t. Want. To. Talk.

Summer and Ginny had given up. Piper texted me once to inform me I was overreacting. And Bach and Mom were always here. I didn’t realize how little I had in my circle until that circle had started shrinking around me. All my friends, all those fake smiles and fun memories, had dismantled the moment I did.

He sighed and released me, talking to the wall. “Harley’s got it in her head that we’re all going out tonight. You. Me. Her. And Dylan. I tried to get out of it, but she knows damn well she can get anything she wants from me. She’s coming in here,” he whispered, when the front door closed. “Play along.”

I closed my eyes. They whispered quietly and then the bed moved again. “Hill?” Harley implored. Hands in my hair, on my face. “I’m going to turn the shower on. You’re going to get in and wash up. Comb your hair. Put on something cute. We’re going to eat. Mexican food. You like Mexican food, Hill?”

I yearned for sleep. A peaceful night absent of mistakes and someone else’s evil.

“Dylan’s here.”

…

“Don’t you want to see him?”

…

“You wanted to a couple weeks ago. What changed?”

Justine, I thought bitterly, still just as shocked by my reaction now as I had been when I’d felt it. That reaction was too strong, too potent. It was dark and new, and I refused to have it again. It passed fire through me in ways I’d never burned. She was sitting on
his
lap. Where I’d cried, fallen apart, and felt safe. And he’d just given my safe place to her like it was nothing. It showed me that Dylan didn’t care about me after all. I was just a kid pulling on his pant leg for his attention. I didn’t need his attention. I didn’t need it from anyone for anything ever again. I had to accept that I had no safe place any longer.

It was unsafe.

I wasn’t safe.

“Hillary. Don’t make me do it. I’ll do it.” She waited a beat before she yanked my covers back. She grabbed my arms and pulled. “Get your ass out of your bed. Please. Hillary. Let’s go out. Don’t you want to look at something other than these walls? I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been there before. But if you stay in this bedroom you’ll just lose sight of everything you had. Please,” she begged, voice breaking.

I rolled over and hid my face beneath my pillow.

“Bach’s excited.”

Liar.

“I’m sure he’d love to go to dinner with his little sister. He doesn’t have any family other than you. His mom abandoned him and his father … well, you know about your dad. You’re all he has.”

Guilt? How low.

“Can I talk to her?” a familiar voice interrupted her ploy just in time.

Bach was the only person I could stand to be around these days. There was something inside of him, a part I think my father destroyed, that called to the damaged part of me. He got it, the way I had thought Dylan understood my fear. But I was wrong. Dylan was simply putting up with his best friend’s damaged little sister. The thought shouldn’t hurt as bad as it did. I blinked my tears, but more followed. I wondered if I’d been crying for hours or minutes, and whether it had to do with my brother’s best-friend.

“Can he?” Harley asked.

In answer, I pulled my blanket over my body.

There was shuffling and then grunting as Dylan lowered onto my bed. For a while, he didn’t speak. I could feel him beside me. I wanted him to crawl beneath the blankets and chase away my fear. It had been devouring me, squeezing every ounce of breath and life I possessed out through my anxiety.

“Your room is exactly how I pictured it. Cheer trophies. Pictures of you in a bikini doing duck faces at the camera. Pink. White. Although.” He paused. “These panties are kind of hot. I do have a thing for boy shorts.”

Oh no
.

“Are you wearing some now?”

Fire raced across my skin. What was hot about boy shorts? I preferred them because they covered my bottom while still being comfortable.

“What color? Let me guess. Pink? White?”

I burrowed deeper in my sheets.

He must have moved because the bed shifted and then my nightstand drawer opened. “An old cell phone. Boring. Old notebooks. Even more boring. Hairbrushes?” He sighed. “Where’s the goodies? Every girl has goodies in her nightstand.”

Goodies?

“Vibrators,” he explained, as if he could read my thoughts. “Dildos. Lady porn. Unless that’s what your Instagram feed is for.”

I rolled my eyes.

My drawer closed. “I’m teasing. I know you don’t have any of that shit. You look more of a do it yourself kind of girl. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

Jerk.

“Me?” My bed shifted further and then there was a hand on my hip, and his body heat penetrated my blankets. “Move over, please? My leg won’t fit.”

I thought about it before I gave in. I slid over in my twin bed and let him have more of the space, recalling the way his wound had been red like paint. I wondered how badly he was in pain. It was the first coherent thought I’d had in so long I clung to it.

“You need a bigger bed.”

Silence settled, deafening again. For what felt like at least an hour, we said nothing to one another. It was as if he knew I was mad and was breaking my walls down with a hammer one brick at a time. But that couldn’t have been. For one? I wasn’t mad. I was just trying to accept that the one man who understood my fear would have rather understood someone else. For two? Dylan had no desire to break down my walls. I had a feeling he had his own and was far too busy worrying about its height to conquer mine.

Finally, I slid out from under my pillow and rolled over, examining him. He shaved. His strong jaw looked smooth and hairless. He looked younger too, as if eighteen and twenty-two weren’t an insurmountable difference.
Not that I wanted to make it possible
.