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I’m halfway to the exit so I don’t hear their protests. The familiar agitation roars through me, flooding my veins with rage. The same feeling I used to get back in Hackney when I had no choice but to follow my dad’s orders. If there’s one thing that can unsettle me and drive me over the edge, it’s not being in control of my own life.
I don’t care about people. Ever.
These fucking feelings of helplessness, of giving a shit that I let Kate down, of not being able to just let it go and be the cold prick I know I am—it has my skin crawling and my fists eager for a fight.
Outside, I hail a cab and give the address of a run down gym near my flat. It’s for serious martial artists, boxers and the like, open until after midnight most nights. While the driver weaves in and out of heavy L.A. traffic, I think about that night in Hackney. The night that took everything I knew to be true about myself and turned it all into a lie.
My cock was buried deep in the throat of the slag my dad hired for my reward when the locker room door opened. She was giving me one of the best blowjobs of my life, yet all I can remember from that night is the wounded, desolate look on Kate’s gorgeous face.
Shit. Pining after a girl. Maybe I’m more like Adam than I thought. Only, instead of using a bottle to bury my pain, I use my fists.
Kate
“You really won the roommate lottery, Kate.” My friend Abby glances over at Lila’s side of the room with disgust. Designer clothes are tossed everywhere, littering the bed and the floor—even her desk. The sarcasm in Abby’s voice is evident.
“You don’t know half of it.” I throw my Intro to Psychology textbook into my duffel with my footy gear and zip it closed. “She’s got a different bloke in here just about every night.”
Abby’s eyebrows shoot up, “Every night?”
I nod. “Just about. It’s so bloody inconvenient. She made a rule that if one of us is in here having it off, you put a sock on the doorknob so the other won’t come in and interrupt.” I stifle a smile when Abby bursts out laughing. We’re in a class together and became fast friends.
“She’s unbelievable,” Abby chokes out.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. She’s something.”
“Why is she even here? At UCLA? Or in the dorms for that matter?” Abby asks as we head for the lifts to take us downstairs. “Clearly she has money. And she isn’t here to study.”
The doors to the lift slide open. A few students exit before we get on. “I guess she’s here for the shagging,” I joke, only, that’s not far from the truth when it comes to my perpetually randy flatmate.
“Huh. What a waste.” Abby is shaking her head. “I’d love to get inside that brain of hers.”
We walk outside into the bright L.A. sun. September has just begun and it’s hot and sunny, as it’s been every day of the last four weeks since I arrived. “You and your psychoanalyzing.”
“Hey!” Abby bumps hips with mine. “That interest in psychoanalyzing is going to help you pass Psych 101. Where would you be without me?”
Indeed. Where would I be? I’d be in L.A. alone, no friends, no Dax, no Ellie, no anything. The thought has me resolving to try harder to find out where Ellie is staying. Classes started two weeks ago and I haven’t heard a thing from her. I’m listed in the campus directory but still, no call.
Tomorrow, I’ll call the Department of Student Services and see if they can give me any information. I may not have Dax, but I can always count on my best mate. And right now, I could really use another friend. Someone I can lean on.
I never spoke to Dax again after the night Tasha and I literally caught him with his pants down. I couldn’t bear to face him knowing that I had absolutely no place in his life. That whatever we had between us was about as important to him as clipping his fingernails and choosing what socks to wear.
“I think I’m going to go on that date with that guy from the men’s footy team,” I blurt out randomly. Maybe a new bloke will help me forget about Dax. “The one who asked me to dinner last week.”
“Really?” Abby sounds confused. “I thought you told him no.”
I did tell him no. I had still been holding out hope that things may work out between Dax and me. “I told him I had to think about it. Not a flat out no.”
“Good for you. So far, all I’ve seen you do is study and practice. That’s not much of a life. This is college. Time to figure out who you are and what you want.”
“Yeah,” I respond quietly.
Too bad what I want isn’t ever going to be mine.
Dax
“Dude! You’re a machine!”
I ignore the kid who walks up next to where I’m working with the heavy bag. I hit it over and over in the exact same routine my dad had me do back home. Going through the familiar motions gives me peace. It lets my mind focus solely on the power in my body as it comes into contact with the thick, padded surface. Each strike serves as a reminder of who I really am.
