Dissolve (2 page)

He stares into my eyes, never breaking the kiss, and for a moment I can’t blink, or move. The corners of his lips move into a smoldering smirk, as if challenging me. A cold sweat breaks out over my neck, more out of anger than anything - he’s kissing someone, and taunting someone else with his magnetism. What a slimy bastard. He’s definitely only got one thing on his mind - sex with as many girls as possible, constantly.

“Oh hell no,” Trist hisses in my ear. “Quick, Ev, look away.”

I keep my face impassive, letting him know he hasn’t affected me at all, and look at Trist. “Way ahead of you. Who is he?”

“How can you not know Kai Jackson? You’ve been here for almost a year!”

“I’m sorry I don’t keep up with the current scumbag of the month,” I say. “I assume he’s a scumbag.”

“What gave it away, the fact he’s making out with someone else’s girlfriend, or the fact he’s wearing a motorcycle jacket? Either way, you’re correct. He’s a scumbag. But a sexy scumbag.”

“Wait, that’s -” I look at the girl. “Why is she -”

“Because he’s hot as hell, and she’s drunk. Duh. I’m surprised Hayley didn’t jump his bones earlier - they’ve been making eyes at each other the entire year in my Sociology class.”

I grimace. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who cheat.

“Anyway, don’t look at him. He might come over here and that’s the last thing I want.” Trist says this, but she licks her lips half-subconsciously.

“Suuure,” I sigh. “You can get in line, you know. I’m sure he’s just queuing them up around the bar.”

“Ugh, no,” Trist scoffs. “He’d ruin me for life. He’s just got that vibe, you know?”

I drain my cranberry and vodka in an effort to drop the subject. Trist goes to the bathroom, and I follow the gaze of a particularly creepy sandy-haired dude who’s done nothing but sit at the bar and ogle Trist’s considerable D-cups. When she comes back, she announces she’ll get us another round, but I offer to get it instead. Anything to keep her away from a guy who’s clearly got her in his sleazy sights. I order two mint juleps, avoiding the guy’s gaze entirely. He’s shifted from her to me - I can feel it. I look over once and confirm it. The music changes to something louder, drowning out my ability to hear. A hard heat looms behind me, just on my butt. I whirl around to make space, when I come face-to-face with the creeper.

“You’re friends with that girl, right?” He shouts. “The blonde.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shout back. He laughs and reaches out to stroke my hair. I’m so shocked I freeze for a moment, his arms enclosing around me before I have the good sense to step off.

“Get a life, weirdo,” I shout, grabbing the two mint juleps that’ve slid down the bar. I elbow away from him, my heart racing and my stomach churning. What kind of creep tries to touch someone he barely knows? And worse yet, none of the people standing around the bar stopped him.

I know his type. I deliver the mint julep to an excited Trist and sip my own pensively. His type was exactly Mr. Dowell’s type - the algebra teacher in my high school who harassed me the entire year. It started out small; he’d always call on me for the answer, and if I got it wrong or ever talked out of turn, he’d assign me detention. At first I thought he hated me, but then the love letters started appearing in my locker, poems in elegant handwriting about how perky my breasts were and how limpid my eye-pools were, or something. I don’t remember. After four years I’ve blocked most of the details out, for better or for worse. But I can’t block out the night of the school play even if I tried to.

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the sweet burn of the mint julep as it goes down my throat. Trist drags me to the dance floor, and I don’t normally dance, but tonight I get lost in the music. I don’t want to think about creeps. I don’t want to think about that night. I came to Montcrest for a fresh start, not reminders of the past. So I dance as hard as I can, like I’m in my underwear in my room jamming out to my favorite song and not surrounded by people I don’t know. Trist loves it, cheering me on and clapping, adding her own sexy twists to compliment mine. She peels away eventually, dancing with a different guy I’ve never seen before. I carefully avoid all the dudes inching up on me, eager to grab my hips and grind nastily like they try on every other girl. I lose sight of Trist, but it’s no big - she’ll make her way back to the table. She always does.

Through the strobe lights and faint clouds of sweat and smoke, I catch a pair of mismatched eyes again. Kai. He’s leaning against a far wall, Hayley nowhere in sight. I keep dancing, determined not to let his gaze unsettle me from what I’m doing.

That’s right, sleazebag. I’m going to keep dancing, even if you’re looking at me. I won’t let you affect what I’m doing, or how I feel. Guys like you aren’t worth that much.

As the thought runs through my head, that same slow, lazy smirk spreads across his face, like he knows what I’m thinking and finds it hilarious. Irritated, I sway my hips with exaggerated movements, trying and (probably) failing to look as graceful and unaffected as possible. But I can only keep it up for so long. Finally, I go back to the table, chugging the glasses of water we ordered early in the night. I look around for Trist, but she’s nowhere in sight. Did she go to the bathroom again? I poke my head in just to make sure, but calling her name into the porcelain restroom gets no response. I look at my reflection - dishwater-brown hair hangs short, a choppy bob around my ears. I cut it as a change of pace at the start of this year, and because I was tired of the hassle it took when it was long. My skin is so pale it practically glows in the fluorescence. I see a tanned girl flinch at it as she washes her hands. Maybe Trist is right. Maybe I should get out more. Trist let me borrow the red, low-backed dress and ballet flats I’m wearing; if I had my way, I’d have worn flannel and converse. My steel-blue eyes flinch away from my reflection. I really don’t belong here, that’s for sure. But for Trist, I’d do almost anything, and she’d wanted to come to this bar since forever. I smooth my hair and push out of the bathroom. I have to find her. I call her cellphone, but her purse is still at the table. She didn’t take it with her.

The wrong feeling eats me alive, my skin prickling. I grab our things and dash outside - maybe she went outside for fresh air?

“Excuse me,” I interrupt a group of people smoking on the curb. “Have you seen a blonde girl in a blue dress walk out of here?”

“Yeah,” One of them grunts, bobbing his head down the street. “She went that way with a guy. Looked pretty sick.”

“Shit,” I swear. “Thank you!”

I start running down the street, but the ballet flats are slowing me down. I stumble as I rip them off and crush them into my purse. My bare feet slap against the cement. The town of Old Haven is a college town, so it’s liveliest on Saturday nights like this, but this street in particular is pretty quiet, and dark. I feel like throwing up at the thought of what that guy is plotting with Trist, but I press on. My legs burn, begging for me to stop.

A shout echoes among the buildings. I follow it, praying Trist is okay, that there’s still time to save her. She can’t end up like me. She can’t end up like me. It’s a mantra in my panicked head, sticking over and over. She can’t end up like -

I round the corner and freeze. On the sidewalk, two figures are collapsed. A third figure is kicking one of the two.

“Next time you wanna be….a fucking prick…” The third figure, a guy, highlights every few words with a kick to the gut of the second figure - a guy as well. “…do us all a favor…and go straight to hell. Do not pass…go. Do not collect…two hundred…dollars!”

The guy on the ground moans pitifully.

“Stop!” I yell. The kicking guy turns around, the orange streetlight just enough for me to see his face. I’d recognize those two-toned eyes anywhere now - Kai.

“Hey, lioness.” He says jovially. His voice is deep and amused, like he’s constantly experiencing some inside joke. “’Bout time you showed up.”

I kneel at the side of the first figure, whom I recognize now.

“Trist!” I hold her in my arms. She’s warm, but her eyes won’t move, and her whole body feels limp in my grasp. I snap my head up at Kai. “What the hell did you do to her?”

“Whoa there,” He holds his hands up in an I’m-innocent gesture. “I didn’t do shit. It was this little prick here who drugged her. When she started to feel it, he pulled her off the dance floor.”

I put Trist down gently and get up to look at the guy.

“It’s that creeper,” I hiss. Sure enough, the tawny-haired boy who got too close for comfort at the bar is lying on the ground, but I can barely recognize him - his face is swollen with bruises and his nose is bloody.

“I might’ve gone a little overboard,” Kai coughs. He takes off his leather jacket and wraps it around Trist. “But the fucker deserved it.”

I set my lip and help him support Trist. She can’t even stand. He pulls her up into his arms instead like she weighs no more than a pillow.

“What happens now?” I ask. Kai quirks a brow.

“Well, I suggest we leave the coward here. I brought my Harley tonight, otherwise I would offer you ladies a ride home.”

“It’s fine, I’ll call a Lyft.” I pull out my phone and tap furiously on the application. “Shouldn’t we file a police report, or something?”

“Nah,” Kai shakes his head, dark hair shading his eyes. He quickly blows it out of his face. “Let your friend wake up, first, then ask her if she wants to do anything like that. It’s her choice.”

“That’s awfully considerate, coming from a -”

I cut myself off. Seriously, Evelyn? You’re badmouthing the guy who saved your friend’s ass? Kai’s smirk grows wider.

“Finish your sentence, lioness.”

“I’m not a lioness,” I snap. “Stop calling me that.”

“So she says as she tears my head off like a lioness does to a water buffalo,” He chuckles. We’re so close, I can smell the spice of his cologne - or whatever he uses in the shower - tinged with sweat. I’m silent, staring at Trist’s prone body in his arms. If Kai had been a second or two late, what could’ve happened to her? I didn’t even notice when she was gone. What kind of a friend am I?

“I’ve seen you around,” Kai continues. “All you do is glare at dudes. The only person you smile at is this girl. Or ladies. Don’t tell me,” His face gets a ‘oh shit’ look on it. “You like girls.”

“Typical male,” My voice is venom. “We’re in a crisis situation and all you can think about is sex. You’re disgusting.”

“There we go,” He laughs, the sound warm. “For a second I thought you’d gone silent from shock.”

Trist stirs, and I reach out for her hand.

“Don’t worry,” Kai asserts. “She’ll be alright. It just takes a few hours to wear off. And there’s a mean after-headache.”

“You seem awfully knowledgeable about a date-rape drug.”

He glowers for the first time. “If you’re implying I use them, don’t insult me. Ladies come to me on their own. Besides, guys who force women are scum. No exceptions. Everyone knows that.”

“Except the scum, apparently.” I glare down at the guy on the pavement.

“Exactly,” Kai nods. A white car pulls up then, and I wave at the driver.

“That’s our ride.”

Kai walks over and I open the door for him to put Trist inside. I slide in when she’s secured, and Kai leans on the door.

“Sorry about the shitty night,” He says. I squeeze Trist’s hand, watching her breathe evenly. I hope she’ll be okay after this. She doesn’t deserve this, not a single second of it.

“Thank you. For helping,” I look up at Kai. This time he doesn’t smirk - there’s no heated friction beneath this grin, only soft pleasure.

“No problem, lioness.”

I’m about to tell him to knock the nickname off when he closes the door, and the driver takes off down the boulevard, Kai a distant speck in leather watching us go.

I manage to get Trist into bed in our apartment, and tumble into my own only after I’ve made sure she’s breathing evenly. I kick off my shoes, and I’m out before my head hits the pillow - part dancing exhaustion, part terror exhaustion.

My nightmares have always been bad.

Ever since that night in high school, they’ve haunted me. Sometimes I remember them, and sometimes I don’t, but they’re always dark and horrifying, and the next morning I always wake up tense and trembling. If I was any kind of psychologist, I’d probably say it was PTSD, but I don’t have time for something like that in my life. I have a degree to earn, and a life to move on with. I won’t let it rule me. I won’t give in.

But the nightmares make me give in. And I can’t do anything to stop them.

My hands are shaking when I wake up. My jaw is too-tight - I must’ve been grinding my teeth. The worst part is my palms; in my sleep I clenched my fists too hard, and deep red welts ooze blood. I manage to bandage them. In the mirror I take deep breaths.

“It’s okay,” I try to convince myself. “You’re safe.”

My own voice sounds hollow. Subconsciously, I know I don’t believe my words, so they have little to no effect. But I have to try to comfort myself, at the very least.

Trist wakes up a few hours after me with a massive headache, just as Kai predicted, and a raging fury none of us predicted.

“What a shitlord!” She crows around a bowl of oatmeal I made for her. She’s swaddled in a fuzzy blanket on the couch of our tiny two-bedroom apartment. Her shower-wet hair drips comically down the blanket.