More Than Him (5 page)

He cursed before hanging up.

I was weak.

Pathetic.

Scared.

Stupid.

***

"Dimmy," he called out. I heard his footsteps get closer just before the closet door swung open. His expression went from panic, to relief, to sympathy. "You're okay," he soothed, taking a seat on the floor next to me. "You're okay," he said again, but this time to himself.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to worry you." I looked up at him.

"Don't ever apologize for that." He ran his hand through his hair and wriggled a little on the floor until he was comfortable. "You want to talk about it . . . what you're feeling . . . or whatever?" He seemed uneasy.

"I don't know. I thought I was okay, E. I really did. But then I was here alone and I just . . . started to remember . . ."

"And you got scared?"

I nodded.

"Do you remember it?"

I nodded again, biting my lip to stop the sob. "I just wanted them to stop. They wouldn't stop. They just kept hitting him—"

"That's it?" he cut in. "That's what you think about? That they hurt him?" His tone was sharp. "What about you, Dimmy? How about the fact that they hurt
you
? How about the fact that Logan just fucking left and hurt
you
? Or the fact that he's
still
hurting you? Every day he's gone, and you're hurting. That's all you can think about—that asshole?"

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to calm down.

"How are those self-defense classes going?" He changed the subject.

"Good," I said truthfully. "I'm getting more confident."

He squeezed my hand. "Good." Then he lifted it and studied my wrist. "He doesn't deserve
this,"
he stated, motioning his head towards it. He stood and offered me his hand. "I called Tyson. He's coming home, we're going mini golfing."

"Mini golf?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yeah." He pushed me out of the closet, through my bedroom, down the hallway and into the living room. "It'll be good times, promise."

Tyson came home five minutes later, apologizing for leaving. He hadn't realized I was home. He kept apologizing, even though I kept telling him it was fine. I wasn't his responsibility. I wasn't Ethan's, either.

An hour later, we were mini golfing. Ethan and Ty shared a flask. I drove, opting not to share in the extracurricular.

It was the first night since he’d left where I felt like myself again, even for a little while.

We laughed. Hard. It really was good times.

***

Tyson knocked on my door and popped his head in. "You decent?"

I was already in bed, ready to call it a night. "Yup."

"Dammit," he joked. He made a show of jumping on the bed before lying next to me. He turned his head to face me, blinking hard a few times.

"Are you wasted?" I asked, giggling when he scrunched his nose. They hadn't stopped drinking whatever was in the flask until a few minutes ago. I eyed him, waiting for his answer. He'd gotten so handsome over the past few years. His features were more defined, manlier.

"I think so. I don't know what Ethan had in that flask, but it's worked its magic into my system."

I laughed. "Magic?"

He nodded, turning his entire body to face me. I did the same. His scruffy dark hair was all over the place.

"Quit checking me out," he teased.

I laughed into my pillow. I wasn't going to deny it, I kind of was.

I felt him move forward until his body was flush against mine. The heat of his arms as they wrapped around me, engulfed me. He pulled me in so my face was on his chest.

I muffled into his chest. "What are you—"

He cut in before I could finish. "Sshh, Dim. Just let me do it." I let my body relax. He must've felt it, because he brought me even closer. "I've wanted to hold you like this since I moved in," he said, pulling back and looking at my face. "Are you okay?"

The concern in his face broke my heart. "Yeah, Tyson. I am." I put my arms around him. "I promise."

"I'm not talking about
him
. I mean . . ." He cleared his throat. "You were almost raped."

My breath hitched. No one had ever said those words aloud. Not to me, anyway. "I don't think about it.
Almost
doesn't count."

"That's bullshit. It has to count for something."

"It could've been a lot worse."

"Yeah, or it could have been prevented completely."

I reared back, a little pissed off at his words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He exhaled loudly. "Nothing. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm buzzed. Sorry." He brought my head back closer to him, but now we were face to face: his nose against mine, our lips almost touching. He closed his eyes slowly. "Goodnight, Dim," he said, right before he kissed me.

I let him.

It wasn't passionate. It wasn't intimate. There was no tongue. No movement. It just
was.
When he pulled back, he sighed. "I know you're still in love with him."

I didn't speak.

I didn't agree.

I didn't deny.

I didn't know how I felt.

***

I woke up the next morning and he was gone. I must have fallen asleep in his arms. Some nights, I'd had nightmares. Last night, I didn't.

I don't truly understand why, but the fact that I was almost raped didn't really ring true. Maybe I’d blocked it out, or maybe I was just so scared for Logan at the time that I didn't really understand what was happening until afterwards.

I remembered most of it so distinctly. I remembered him being held up, me saying his name, him finding the strength to break free, but then he fell to the floor. I’d wanted to reach him. I kept thinking that he'd find the strength again, but he couldn't get up, he just kept crawling toward me. It had all happened so fast, but his movements—they were so slow. I’d heard him say my name, right before he got kicked in the head. I’d screamed. It was so loud, it had echoed through the house. I’d screamed some more, and I’d thought for sure that if he could just hear me screaming, he would wake up. Surely, he would wake up. He had to.

I think my body shut down then, because I don't remember anything that happened after.

When I woke up in the hospital, the first thing I remember thinking was that maybe Logan and I were connected somehow, more than just a boy and a girl in love. Maybe our souls were entwined—if he hurt, I hurt. If he stopped breathing, I did, too. If he died, maybe I would die with him.

I was alive. I was awake. Which meant that he was, too. But I didn't see him; he never came for me.

He just left.

***

We decided to go home for the weekend to visit Mom. She'd started to date some guy, and she wanted us to meet him. I’d invited Tyson to come along, he assumed he already was.

My mom loved Tyson—always had. We took Ethan's car, as mine was too small, and Tyson didn't have one. Tyson wanted to drop by the store and get a bottle of wine and some flowers for Mom. Ethan left his phone charger back home, so went to the electronics store to buy a new one. I waited in the car for both of them.

A knock on the window caused me to jump out of my skin. I held my hand to my heart, and turned to see a familiar face.

He knocked again.

I should’ve expected to see him; we were parked out the front of his practice. I wound down the window.

"Hey, Amanda," he said. Then rubbed the scruff of his beard with the back of his fingers. "You got a minute? I’d like to have a quick word, if that’s okay?"

It could only be about one thing, and for a second, I hesitated. But I wouldn’t let this ruin what I’d spent months trying to build. "Sure." I smiled at him and got out of the car.

He motioned for me to sit on a bench a few feet away. The cool metal chilled the back of my thighs when I sat. "How have you been, Dr. Matthews?"

"You know to call me Alan, Amanda."

I giggled. "How have you been, Alan?"

He blew out a breath, his smile completely gone. "I’ve been better." He cleared his throat. "That’s actually why I wanted to speak to you."

My eyebrows drew in. "What do you mean?"

He took my hand in both of his. I let him. I swallowed down my emotions and blinked back the tears. I don’t know how he’d suddenly made me feel like this.

"I owe you an apology—"

I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he lifted his hand to stop me.  "Please, sweetheart," he said. "I need to apologize to you. Logan—"

My breath caught. My insides turned to cement. His name alone still had the power to ruin me.

"He was in a bad way after what happened to you. And even though it happened to him, too, he never saw it like that. All he ever saw was you. He blamed himself. He thought it was his fault that it happened. And he thought that if you hadn’t of met him . . . well . . ." He let out all the air in his lungs. Then he looked at me, right into my eyes.

Blinking, I let a tear drop.

"I thought I was helping him. It was my idea for him to leave and travel. I thought that maybe it would help him if he saw things differently . . . but hell, I never even thought about you."

I let the dam break; let it shatter into a pool of contained emotions.

"And I’m sorry," he continued. "I’m sorry that he’s gone."

"Please," I managed to say, trying to stop him from continuing. I wiped my face. "I appreciate what you’re saying, I really do, but you’re not the one that should be apologizing."

He nodded. "Do you want to know about him?"

"No," I said quickly. "I can’t."

"Okay."

He removed his hands from mine and leaned back on the bench, and I mimicked his position. We stared straight ahead.

"You know," he said, his tone a little lighter. "When he left for college, it started to get real lonely in that big old house, but he would come by and visit on weekends. Now, though—I miss him."

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "Yeah." I did, too. But I wasn’t going to admit that to anyone.

He laughed once. "I looked up Taco Casserole recipes on the internet."

I smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Mine came out black, though."

I laughed, that awkward crying-type laugh.

"Just saying—if you ever feel the need to make it, and want to visit a lonely old man in a big empty house, the invitation is there."

I tuned my head to face him. "Maybe."

"There you are!" Tyson’s voice came from behind me, interrupting us.

I stood up, and so did Alan. I waited until he was next to me before I made the introductions. "Um, this is Tyson." I pointed my thumb at him. "Tyson, this is Dr. Matthews." I felt Tyson tense.

They shook hands.

Alan smiled, and then faced me. "The invitation will always stand,
pretty girl
."

5

"I swear Mom loves Tyson more than her own kids." Ethan stood next to me while Mom gushed all over Ty.

"Oh, my," she swooned. "You've gotten so damn handsome."

I smiled. It was true; he had. I didn't miss the look she gave me over his shoulder while she was hugging him.

"Well," Tyson started. "You haven't changed a bit. I swear you and Dimmy could be sisters."

I snorted at the same time as Ethan scoffed, "Lame." Mom smiled warmly at me.

While Ethan looked every bit like Dad, I was a fine mix between the two. Dad was Mexican, and Ethan got all his dark features: his dark skin, hair and eyes. Mom was almost the opposite. She had fair skin and natural blonde hair; and her eyes were the color of the ocean. She did look younger than her years, and even after everything she'd been through, it hadn't affected her looks.

"So, when do we get to meet this asshole?" Ethan joked.

Mom laughed at him. "Soon."

Scott, his name was.

Dinner went smoothly. He even managed to keep up with Ethan's fifty questions. Ethan played the overprotective son perfectly. I think Scott found it more amusing than anything else, but he hid it, and treated Ethan with the respect he seemed to think he deserved.

Tyson sat next to me and occasionally nudged my leg. It was this stupid game we’d played when we’d dated. Back then, it started with nudges on the leg, and eventually it had turned to him trying to sneak his hand up my thigh.

He didn't do that tonight.

After Scott and Mom retired to the living room to watch TV, we went up to my room. Ethan had a date; he wouldn't say with whom. Alexis also had a date that night. Funny how that happens.

"Am I sleeping in here?" Tyson asked, walking around my room. He was taking everything in; like it had changed since the last time he'd seen it.

"I don't know, I didn't really think about it. I mean, I'm fine sharing a bed if you are."

He looked at the bed, and then at me. A slow smirk pulled on his lips. "Hey, remember that time . . ." He walked over to the bed and sat on it. "We snuck here after school once. The first time we fooled around was right here—on this bed."

I nodded, biting my lip. I remembered.

He leaned in closer. "Shit, it was good times. You were so responsive, too."

"Tyson," I warned. We were about to go somewhere I didn't want to be.

He just nodded and cleared his throat. "I'm glad I was your first," he said, removing his socks and jeans. "That way you'll always remember me." He took off his shirt and stood in nothing but his boxer shorts.

I looked away.

I waited for him to get into bed before switching off the light on the nightstand. "So does that mean you can easily forget me?" I asked him. I knew I wasn't Tyson's first. He was two years older, and had been open about the fact that he'd dated and slept with other girls before me. We never got into the specifics of it. I didn't want to know. Some girls may have wanted a list of names and locations, but I was happy being naive.

He laughed quietly. "No, Dim." He rested his hand on my stomach. "I'd never be able to forget you. I don't think any guy would be able to forget you."