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“I better do that, you think?”
Holy fuck, I think I ruined things for good.
26
Clinton
I felt like fucking garbage. No, worse than garbage. I felt like the garbage’s garbage. The shit that shit threw out. My face kept swelling and I felt a bruise forming despite the fact that the guy at the party couldn't fight worth shit. Or maybe the alcohol had dulled my senses. I didn’t know. My pride was wounded. And for some reason, my damn ribcage hurt. When the hell did I hurt my ribs? I pulled my shirt up and sighed. There were bruises there, too.
Apparently, there was shit I didn’t even remember.
I did remember Rae’s words, though. How much they stung. How determined she was to spit them out. Thinking about them made my heart crack that much more. I forced myself to think about something else. The fries. Oh, these extra crispy fries were the fucking bomb. I inhaled them as the Tylenol kicked in. Along with the hydration of my water. I wanted to get up and get a second glass, but I didn't want to be anywhere near Rae. I didn’t want to talk to her. Or look at her. Or even smell her.
I just wanted to get away from her.
Mike had been a good sport for hauling me into the room. Tossing me on the bed. I wished he hadn’t tossed me near Rae. No matter, though. I owed him big time for helping me away from that party. I picked up my burger and felt the juices of the meat dripping down my face. I took massive bites, swallowing it after barely chewing. My stomach yearned for the nourishment. Yearned for the carbs and the grease to help me sober up. Holy fuck, I’d had way too much to drink.
Never again.
“Clint? Do you want more water?”
“I’ve got some brownies and chocolate cake here. You want dessert?”
“I’m not going to eat all of my breadsticks. Here, I’ll bring you some.”
Rae brought me another glass of water, a mug of coffee, and a bunch of other shit I didn’t want. I refused to look at her as she set everything down. She stood there, waiting for me to acknowledge her. But I didn’t have the energy. I was still licking my wounds. Still dwelling on her words. Still trying to figure out how much she meant and how much she didn’t.
I knew if I talked to her, she’d tell me she meant none of it.
But I knew that wasn’t the case.
All I wanted to do was fill my stomach and pass out in bed. Without talking to Rae. I didn’t want to sleep with her. Or beside her. Or even in the same room as her. I found myself wishing I had never come on this trip. That I had told her she needed to do this by herself. Maybe then, all of this could’ve been avoided.
Or maybe, it would have prompted her to break up with me sooner.
I wasn’t sure which one was better. Or worse.
I cracked my neck and set my dirty plates on the concrete floor of the patio. Then, I continued staring off into space. Not really focusing on one particular thing. Rae kept trying to strike up conversations with her stupid questions. I let her voice fade into the background, jiggling my leg with anxiety that filled my veins. I bobbed my head to a song that was playing on loop in the back of my mind. Some electronic song from the
party those idiots kept playing over and over again.
The song sucked.
But it blocked out Rae’s voice.
I hated the way she was talking to me. The way she kept trying to interject herself. Like nothing was fucking wrong. Or like everything was wrong. Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? That’s what she wanted, right? Her space. To be left alone. To leave me and never look back.
I couldn't shake my anger off. And until I was able to swallow it down, I knew it was best for me to keep my distance.
I mean, hell, she probably didn’t remember it anyway! And I wasn’t in the mood to recount her drunken words. I wasn't ready to rehash it. To experience that pain all over again so quickly. I wasn’t a damn masochist. I didn’t want to do that shit. And for once, I prioritized what I wanted over what I figured Rae wanted.
Can I even be mad if she doesn't remember?
Yes. Yes, I fucking could. Because it still hurt. Because it still happened. Murderers that didn’t remember the murder were still tried and found guilty for it. So even if she didn’t remember breaking my heart, that didn’t mean she hadn’t. I licked my lips. I didn’t know why I tasted blood, and I didn't get up to figure out why. Because going to the bathroom meant crossing through the hotel room.
Which meant passing by Rae.
I blinked back tears. What she’d said at the party kept rushing through my head. Torturing me, as if I deserved it. And maybe I did. Maybe I had been a shitty boyfriend that gave her too much space or not enough space or wanted sex too much or not enough. Maybe I had broken her heart or pushed her away or pulled her back too much or not apologized for something. Fucking hell, I didn’t know. And I’d never know, because she didn’t want to speak with me. Or talk about it. All she wanted to do was act as if this shit didn’t exist.
