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“Andy?”
“I’ll pass by you in the morning,” I said, fighting back the urge to argue with him. If I really did care about Andrea, getting her out of Mansfield was probably the best thing to do. I knew I could convince her to stay, but I couldn’t be selfish and risk her getting hurt. I needed her to be safe.
I hung up, shifted into drive, and made my way home, feeling shittier by the second.
***
I was into my fourth drink when the doorbell rang.
I rushed to the door, fully expecting it to be Andrea and wondering how she had convinced Bobby to drive her here. I opened the door, ready to swoop her into my arms, when I saw Hannah standing there instead.
“What the –”
Hannah quickly raised both hands up, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one and a white handkerchief in the other. She waved the handkerchief lazily. “Truce,” she said. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Then why are you here?”
She dropped her hands and shot me an annoyed glare. “Are you going to leave me out here?”
“Pretty much.”
She sighed. “I ran into Jeremy,” she said. “He told me you were in some kind of fist fight today. I’m just checking on you and brought you a bottle to show that I’m not angry anymore.”
I looked at her for a beat, trying to discern whether she was telling the truth or just playing with me. She smiled and held the bottle up again. I sighed and stepped out of the way, letting her in.
“Thank you,” she said, making straight for the kitchen. “I see you’ve already started without me.”
I closed the door and trudged back to the couch, collapsing onto it with a grunt. I could hear Hannah opening and closing cabinets, the clink of glasses, the sound of the whiskey bottle’s cap being opened. I realized that this was probably the longest time she had spent in my apartment with her clothes still on. I closed my eyes and covered my face with my arm, trying to get my head to stop spinning.
“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” Hannah asked, handing me my glass and sitting in the seat opposite me, folding her leg underneath her as she made herself comfortable.
“What do you care?” I asked.
“Come on, Andy, I called truce,” she said. “I’m trying to be civil here.”
I groaned and sat up, downing my drink quickly and slamming the cup down.
“That bad, huh?” Hannah commented.
“You know, I’m finding it very strange that you’re actually here just to make sure I’m alright,” I said, feeling the words slur in my mouth. “After I kicked you out, and after that little piece of art you left on my door, I have to say, this is quite surprising.”
“Not so crazy after all, huh?”
I looked at her through heavy lids, frowning.
“Yeah, I know what people say about me,” Hannah said, lifting her glass in a toast. “I might be a pervert, Andy, but I’m not crazy. I’m just possessive, and I’m not ashamed of admitting it. What’s mine is mine.”
“I was never yours,” I said.
She looked at me for a few seconds, then shrugged. “We were good together. The best sex I ever had. I guess I just didn’t want to share it.”
“And the whole let’s-not-be-exclusive agreement?”
“I never said I was perfect,” she countered.
I’d say.
I rubbed my hand, trying to stop the throbbing, and only then realized the ripped skin around my knuckles. They were going to leave a nasty scab.
