The Singles (69 page)

“Trouble in paradise?”

I groan. “Even worse. Fight between her and one of our suitemates.”

“That bad?”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I nod. “So much that I’m actually foaming at the mouth for fall break to come in a few weeks,” I admit, hating that my words are actually true. Since returning to Richmond after Labor Day a couple weeks ago, I’ve talked to my parents a total of two times. Still, I’ll take their love-stoned, let’s-pretend-nothing-ever-happened and my father pointing out how lucky I am he picked up the tab after my music scholarship was cancelled any day over living in my hostile suite.

At least at home, there are two other floors I can exile myself to if things get out of hand.

Cringing, Nathan takes a bite of his steak wrap. “Fun times. Sadly—and I guess, luckily—I’ve seen my suitemates maybe once, and my roommate is always gone.”

I swirl one of my fries around in ketchup and then wipe my hands on a napkin. “I’d go with luckily.”

We finish lunch together in silence, before I head to my last class of the afternoon—English. I’m distracted the entire time, mostly because of Corinne, but also because voice lessons are next. Although the last week has been pretty tame, Rhys always manages to unnerve me.

I’m in my own world as I leave Stanfield Hall and cut through the student union to get to my lesson on time, so I don’t hear my name being called until strong fingers touch my shoulder. I jerk around in surprise, relaxing just a little when my eyes skim over Daniel’s face.

“Seriously. That is the quickest way to get pepper-sprayed, Hollister,” I inform him hotly, spinning back around. He catches up quickly, his long stride matching my own.

“Hollister?”

Dodging his question, I point up ahead to McGregor Hall, the music building. “I’ve got a voice lesson and my instructor is a real bitch if I’m late, so what’s up?”

“Corinne—” he starts, and I slow my pace significantly, my breath catching as I wait for him to finish. I’m guessing that with Elliot being his roommate, he’s already well aware of what’s going on. Even though I know very little about Elliot, I’m willing to bet money that the first person he went bragging to was Daniel, which pisses me off. I turn and lean in toward him, not caring that the people walking behind us have to break to move around. Glancing away from my stare, Daniel sheepishly rubs his palm over his short blond hair.

“Can you let her know she doesn’t have to avoid my texts?” he finally asks.

My lips part in surprise, but I quickly blurt out, “Sure. I mean, of course. I’ll tell her when I see her tonight.”

I start to tell him that my undecided opinion of him just went up ten notches, but then he flashes me a straight white grin, his eyes dipping to give me a swift once-over, from the brown suede toes of my flats to the hat on my head, taking in every inch of my olive skin that’s visible along the way, and I scale that back to five notches.

He starts to say something else, but then he shakes his head. “I appreciate it, Evie,” he says before taking off in the opposite direction.

But I’m smiling when I enter the practice room a few minutes later with thirty seconds to spare. After five minutes of sitting at the piano bench, waiting alone, though, that smile begins to fade.

And after fifteen minutes when there’s no sign of Rhys, and I pull out my course material to start rehearsing on my own, my fingers are shaking as I put the limited skills I’ve learned so far this year in my beginning piano course to the test.

But irritation—and I can’t help but admit, concern—doesn’t set in until I’m on my way back to my dorm and I check my campus email on my phone to find a message from Rhys.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Fri, Sept 13, 2013 at 4:49 PM

Subject: Sorry

Evelyn,

I had an emergency come up, so I had to leave campus for the weekend. Practice this weekend and we’ll touch base next week. Again, sorry for standing you up.

Rhys

Disappointment spirals through my veins as I go into my suite. Hannah’s yelling from her room when I walk in, and when I go to my own room, Corinne pops up from her computer chair. Her face is pale and drawn as she apologizes for walking out on me earlier in the D-hall.

“No skin off my nose,” I promise as I sit in the center of my bed and take off my shoes. Before I grab my computer to write Rhys back, I tell her about running into Daniel. When I’m done, and she looks just as surprised as I was earlier, I say, “Can you call him? He’s worried about you.”

She rushes off, leaving our door partially open. The second I hear Hannah loudly declaring that the “skank is probably gone for the night,” I abandon my reply to Rhys and stalk to the doorway. Blushing, she prepares to speak to me—probably to defend her assholery—but before she can, I slam the door so hard the few bottles of perfume that are sitting on my dresser tumble over.

Nine Months Ago

––––––––

I
already know why James is at my door even before I step aside to let him in, before he opens his mouth to speak. Still, it doesn’t quite mute the sharp pain I feel when he sits on the edge of my bed, looks me right in the eye, and says, “You and me can’t do this anymore, Evie. I’ve tried—I’ve been trying for over a year now—but I can’t.”

Sliding my butt onto the desk directly across from where he’s sitting, I raise my beer to my lips and drink quickly. I’d dug into my private, under-the-bed stash earlier this afternoon, right after Kendra left to go home for the weekend.

“Do what?” My words are a little slurred. I set the can down on a folded sheet of paper I’ve made into a coaster. “What are you talking about?”

James’ face creases into a frown. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “We need to take a break.”

I clear my throat to shove down the bubble forming in my chest. This has been a long time coming, especially after he disappeared over Christmas break, and I heard a rumor from a mutual friend that he was messing around with any and every thing with breasts and a decent ass.

“So you can see other people. And not feel bad about it.” I rub my palm over my chest, wishing it were possible for me to rub away the burn flaming through my ribcage. “I get it.”

“Evie,” he groans, his voice impatient. “Don’t be like this.”

“I’m not being like anything. What? Am I not allowed to understand and accept it?” I start to take another sip of my drink, but suddenly he’s on his feet, standing in front of me and holding my wrist. “Get out of my room,” I order.

“You need help.”

An angry hiss rushes past my lips, and I jerk my wrist out of his grip. Somehow he manages to maintain control of my drink. “Are you screwing with me?”

“This—
this—
is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re all over the place.” His jaw sets in a hard line as he studies my face. “When was the last time you actually went to class?”

“You sound like Kendra. But unlike her, you really have no room to talk.” I also don’t want to slap Kendra when she gives me unsolicited advice. “If you want a break, fine, I’m good with that. But stop trying to analyze me. You blow at it.”

He drops the nearly empty beer can in the wastebasket by my desk before turning back to me. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises as if he didn’t just end our relationship.

“Don’t bother.”

“Evie, Lily would—”

At the mention of my sister, I jump off my desk and shove my hands against his chest, pushing him hard in the direction of the door. “If you even think about going there you won’t walk out of here with your junk intact. Good night, James.”

But after he leaves, mumbling how much he still loves me and how he wants things to go back to how they were
before
, I lock my door and ease down on my bed. Out the corner of my eye, I can see myself in the full-length mirror that’s hanging on the wall beside my desk. I stare numbly at my reflection, at the brown eyes staring back at me. And I can vividly hear James’ unspoken words.

Lily would never be doing this.

Lily would want you to deal with your issues the right way.

Lily would be so disappointed in the wreck you’ve become.

Digging my fingers in the mattress beneath me, I drop my head between my knees and release a sob. I stay like this for so long a headache starts to form between my eyes.  Although it’s the last thing I should do, when I finally talk myself into getting up, I get dressed and soon after, I leave the building with the group of girls I usually party with. When I come home without them a few hours later, I don’t care that I’ve only spoken to the guy I’m kissing a handful of times, or that he knows James. All I want to do is drown out the memories.

I don’t care when the same thing happens once again a couple weeks later.

But a week after that, when I come out of my room and there’s a message scribbled on my whiteboard in permanent orange marker—the board that everyone on my hall can see—that blatantly calls me a whore, something inside me snaps.

And I start to give a damn again.

Now

––––––––

W
ith things somewhat fixed with Corinne—at least where Daniel is concerned—I try to put all thoughts of my own screw-ups out of my head to focus on my schoolwork for the rest of the weekend. I do a half-ass job dealing with things on the memory front, but I catch up on just about all my assignments. By the time I enter the practice room Monday, I’m feeling confident with myself.

Of course, that confidence is immediately tested when Rhys points out that I’m five minutes late. I toss my messenger bag in the chair by the door and start getting my books out.

“Blame your boss then,” I say. He lifts both eyebrows, studying my movements carefully as I set up my sheet music on the stand. “Cameron wanted to reschedule my lesson with her to Thursday. And she wanted to ask me how things are going with you. You’ll be happy to know that I gave you a glowing review.”

Linking his fingers together and placing them behind his head, Rhys leans back. “Glowing, huh?”

“The very best. I told her things are going
swimmingly
. Now, are you ready to start?”

He glances at the top of my head. As usual, I’m wearing one of my many hats, and as usual, he’s not happy about it. For once, though, I’m having a genuinely bad hair day. “As soon as you take that damn hat off. Then we’ll begin.”

“I’m not hiding beneath this one,” I argue. “My hair really does look like shit today.”

“Don’t care if you’re hiding or not. Take it off, Evelyn.”

A surge of frustration whirls through me. “You give voice lessons, bartend, and now, here you are trying to tell
me
what to wear. Again. Wow, Rhys.” My heart flies into my throat as he stalks over to me, and I take a step backwards toward the piano when he stops right in front of me. “Is there anything you don’t do?” I question softly.

Ignoring my question, Rhys slides his strong fingers beneath the brim of my newsboy, pulling it off in one easy motion. My hair falls around my face in a curtain of natural waves, and he sucks in a breath at the sight of it.

Reaching behind me, he drops the hat on the piano’s smooth mahogany lid and I let out a little moan when I hear him inhale my scent. He catches my hands in his before I can reclaim the newsboy. “You are beautiful, Evelyn. No matter how your hair looks.” Moving in toward me so that my butt is pressed up against the piano and I have nowhere to go, he links his fingers with mine, one at a time, each motion careful and taunting.

With him staring at me, standing this close to me, I feel like I’ve been stripped bare.

“If I was going to tell you what to wear – and if there was a chance in hell you’d listen – believe me, the hat would be the last thing to go.” Releasing my hands, he touches my chin gently, tilting my face up until we’re eye to eye. “But I want to see your face when you’re singing to me. I like trying to figure out what’s behind your eyes.”

My nostrils flare. I run my hands over his chest, feeling his muscles beneath my fingers. This is something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw him—well, the second time—and to my relief, he doesn’t stop me. I dig my fingers into the soft fabric of his blue t-shirt as his hands move from my face to my hair, gathering it in his fist and then releasing it. After all the memories of my past here lately, it’s almost as if his touch—no matter how confusing or crazy or
wrong
—is the only thing holding me together.

I trail my tongue over my lips. “You won’t like what you find behind my eyes,” I inform him.

“You’re wrong.” Tracing the tip of his thumb back and forth from my chin to the corner of my mouth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, he dips his face close to mine, his sea blue eyes flashing a challenge.  “I don’t just want the beautiful, the happy-go-lucky, or even the sarcastic bullshit from you. You’re so much more than that. The pain and fear and anger—that’s the part of you I need to unravel.”

“The pain and fear.” I swallow hard. “And the anger.”

“Yes ... it’s the only way you’ll survive going back in front of Cameron during mid-terms in a couple weeks and then again at the end of the semester. She wants to see real emotion, and I’ve yet to get that out of you.”

Professor Cameron. He’s touching me and talking about music. More specifically he’s talking about my future in the music program. Now, I feel like an idiot for the uneven hitch in my breathing. The way my body has, inadvertently, curved in to his. The way I’m hoping our lips might touch, if even for a moment.

“You sound like a masochist.”

“Hmm,” Rhys murmurs thoughtfully. When he doesn’t say anything else, I jab the tip of my tongue into my cheek and glower at him. This is when his face begins a slow transformation. From intense and pensive to a broad, mocking grin. “And there we have it. Real emotion. About goddamn time.”

I start to give him another sharp retort, but then I look him directly in the eyes. “Are you going to kiss me?” I demand, and he presses his forehead to mine. “You want to.”