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Which leaves me. Cynical and indifferent. There is nothing in this world of importance to me than my close circle of friends, and I'm perfectly content with that. I’m in no need of a family, of love. It doesn’t exist. It’s just a fucking waste of time to believe someone else can have your best interest at heart. Everyone is only here to care about themselves. That’s real human nature at its finest.
Survival of the fittest. There’s no time to dwell on the idea of having to rely on someone else. The wholeno one left behindbullshit motto is just a polite way of saying no one left behind unless it affects my survival.
Love is one of those dumbass ideas that trick us into becoming worse off versions of ourselves. Putting someone’s needs before your own never ends well. They don’t call it heartbreak because it makes you feel good when it ends. The only inevitability of love is that its end is inevitable.
I don’t love my friends. I feel a certain form of responsibility to them. A need to protect them. They need me, therefore I am there. But love, it’s a mask of fragility. It makes you weak, vulnerable, and I am already too damn fucked up for that shit.
I shake my head at their bickering. It’s always the same thing with these two. “Where are the girls, anyway?” I ask, trying to change the subject as my gaze searches the crowd, but they are nowhere in sight. The trio of chicks, sisters Scarlett Sinclair and Jade Wolfe, along with Drake's twin, Ruby Drake, who completes our little group, are yet to arrive. A rarity, of course, because when there is a party and alcohol involved, they are the first ones to show their faces.
“Who the fuck cares,” Drake groans, taking a long swig of the beer in his hand. There is the anger I mentioned visible on my bro’s brooding scowl. Drake and Scarlett have ended their little rendezvous, and not in the best way. It’s honestly for the better if you ask me, though I’ve made it a point to berate her for fucking up our vibe. Those two are like fire and fire, when mixed, only leads to more chaos. And we have enough of that shit to last a lifetime. “I need another beer. You guys want one?”
I shake my head, taking a sip of the one in my hand. “I’m good.”
“I’ll go with ya, Drake,” Jax calls out as Drake heads over to where the group of hot chicks gawking at us stand, totally ignoring the cooler right beside us. He turns and glares at Jax, who quickly catches his mistake. “You know, to see if I spot Ruby.”
I laugh at their exchange. Clearly, Drake hates the idea of our best friend dating his sister, but not as much as the thought of him breaking her little heart.
The two of them take off and leave me standing alone amid the chaos that surrounds me. I don’t have any intention of staying long. Figured I’d come, have a few drinks, find a hot chick I could have some fun with, and then head off to bed. Or wander off into the night, which is more like what I usually end up doing.
Another fun fact about me; I’m an insomniac. Have been for as long as I can remember. Sleep is for the dead, and living whose minds aren’t chock full of terrible memories and wretched thoughts. Add that to the list of shit that’s wrong with me. I mean, it’s hard to sleep when you’re constantly worried about the next time dear old dad’s going to show up drunk and fucking high, sneak into your bedroom, and beat the shit out of you just for existing.
I guess some things never go away, because dad’s gone, but the nightmares and wicked thoughts keep coming.
The sky is freakishly clear, every star visible for miles out. The ocean before us, as black as night, fades into the background, though the clashing sounds of its raging waves warn us away. It’s early December, but in most parts of California that calls for seventy degree weather at worst, which explains the hordes of hot babes in bikinis.
It’s nights like these I could easily lose myself in. Succumbing to the noise around me, allowing the chaos to consume me, turning me into a reckless rebel without a cause, careless and with no direction. It’s always been this way.
At a very young age, I realized I was all alone. My father hated my mere existence, though I never truly understood why, yet as early as four years old, I knew it.
Started off with missed birthdays and holidays. Sending me to school in tattered clothes, rundown shoes, and on an empty stomach. I understood we were poor; I mean, all the kids in the neighborhood were, but they at least had a meal on the table more often than not. When I turned six, the striking began. It started off insignificant. I’d forgotten to pick up my plates, put away my toys, or simply came out of my room. Then it escalated quickly. Hard blows to my stomach, legs, and back. My face was always spared. He couldn’t allow the evidence to be seen, not like anyone would care. Others had it worse, I’m sure.
I shake my head at the memory of the first time one of his episodes landed me in the hospital. A broken arm. Of course, he wasn’t the one to take me. Four days after the incident, my second-grade teacher, Ms. Trinity, noticed my arm was hanging low on my side. Apparently she’d observed me all morning, noticed I cringed every time I shifted in my seat and refused to lift my arm. She sent me to the nurse, and that’s when they called the police and had me taken to the hospital.
CPS showed up and questioned me, but out of fear I’d told them I had fallen on the monkey bars at school and was too scared to tell anyone for fear of being made fun of. At eight, I’d become a pretty convincing liar, so with no other suspicion of abuse, they let it slide.
I remember that night when we arrived back home; it was a beer bottle to the back of my head.
Reaching into the cooler, I grab a bottle of whiskey, an expensive brand I’ve never seen before, twist the cap off, and lift the cold bottle to my lips. Just like that night ten years ago, I let the liquor numb the pain.
It’s time to do what I do best.
Forget.
???
I continued wandering about the beach for a few hours, keeping out of Drake’s way since he seemed to be in the same foul mood he’s made his new default setting. Jax found Ruby, and although Scarlett and Jade showed up, they’ve kept to themselves, drinking, and avoiding the arrogant self-proclaimed kings of the school who’ve made their lives hell. They’re a story for another time.
From the corner of my eye, I can see someone watching me, her eyes glued to me as I lean back against a nearby tree. Looking toward the direction she stands, I’m met with the gaze of a sexy redhead amidst the group that was earlier eagerly looking our way. Casey Jonas. She’s cute, with a killer body in a small pink bikini, and a wicked twinkle in her eye that proves she’s exactly what I need tonight. What I’ve lost myself in since we arrived.
I don’t do intimacy. Nothing against it, it's just not in my nature. Sure, I have plenty of sex with any willing body that is okay with the idea of a rough, no feelings fuck. I avoid eye contact, keep the touching to a minimum, and definitely under no circumstances do I allow them to kiss me.
A kiss is a level of intimacy that I have no interest in. They say our eyes are the windows to our soul, but in reality, it’s our lips that hold the darkest of truths. Lies, secrets, fears, all on the tip of our tongues.
And I have no intention of sharing mine.
She’s watching me closely, her eyes skillfully undressing me and eating me alive with an urgent need. Fuck, the chicks around here are always horny. Must be all that pent up energy from those constant shopping sprees and maxing out daddy’s credit card that gets them wet.
Behind her, the crowd fades, blurring as she advances, stepping forward while mumbling something off to her friend. Watching her approach, and being the gentleman that I am, I decide to meet her halfway. She looks as sober as I feel and that’s saying something.
