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“Yeah,” I breathe. “I just need some time alone.”
“You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head, glancing over my shoulder at him and seeing the concern etched in his face. “I think I’ll walk home.”
“You want me to come with?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
I can see that Adrien wants to follow me, but instead, he nods. “Okay. Get home safely.”
I force a smile. “Thanks.”
“I’ll tell Brody that you and your girl are having Skype sex if that helps.”
I laugh, tears once more prickling my eyes. I turn away from Adrien, not wanting him to see how weak I am.Skype sex. Like that actually works. It’s pretty much like watching porn, except the porn is my girlfriend.“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say while walking down the street, lifting my hand in farewell.
As I walk, I try not to think of Rachel or Brody or the team. I try to clear my mind and think of nothing, but it only makes me realize the pain tearing at my heart. This is not how I thought things were going to be. I used to think everything would get easier once I got into the NFL. All I ever wanted to do was play football. Why does everything seem so much harder now? Is it because I’m away from Rachel? From my family? Or is it because I no longer enjoy the game?
I stop when I see the hotel in front of me, my gaze drifting to the liquor store next to it. It closes at midnight. The lights flash at me. The bottles beckon me from the window. It would be so easy to enter, so easy to grab a few bottles and sneak them into my room. No one would question me. No one would say a word. I lick my chapped lips.
One bottle wouldn’t do any harm,something dark whispers inside me.It doesn’t even need to be a bottle of vodka. It could just be one small beer. One small beer won’t do any damage.I clench my fists and turn on my heel, stalking as quickly as possible inside the hotel and refusing to look back. I know the moment I do, I will change my mind and it will all be over. I’m stronger than that.
I march myself all the way up to my room, slamming the door closed and locking it in place as if that could possibly stop me. My hands shake as I unbutton my shirt. My eye twitches as I think of the rows of bottles littering the window. I should call Dr. Forrester. The itch is growing stronger every day, but I don’t want her to think all her hard work isn’t working with me. We’ve reduced our meetings. Before I moved to Chicago, I was doing really well. I went to a party and I didn’t drink at all. And now, I went to a bar and I refused a beer.
So why am I considering going to a liquor store?I ask myself while throwing my shirt on the floor and tugging down my pants, nearly ripping them off me. I dump myself on my bed, heaving a sigh as I lie back on the mattress, gazing up at the ceiling.I need to talk to Dr. Forrester,I tell myself, my frown deepening.I need to talk to someone before this goes any further. But who? I’m all alone.
Chapter 9
RACHEL
Istareatmyphone, waiting for Hunter to text back. The sun is shining brightly above me, despite the cool breeze whipping my hair. The sunlight makes it difficult to read the black print on my phone and I angle it toward me, using the sleeve of my yellow sweater to create a shadow over my phone.
I’m sorry about last night,my text message reads. I sent it early this morning before my English 301 class.
I hope you had fun,I had then texted when I was waiting for my coffee order. Still nothing. I take a sip of my latte, relishing in its vanilla taste, hoping the sugar takes away the anxiety twisting my insides. Of course it doesn’t.
Call me tonight?I text while balancing my phone in my hand, squinting against the sunlight in order to see the words. I realize too late that I spelledCallasCalandtonightasyonight.Oh well. He’ll understand when he sees the message. If he sees the message.
I sigh and tilt my head back, closing my eye while my hand tightens around my phone. Why was I such an asshole to him last night? Of course he won’t do anything. He’s been clean over a year and he’s never done anything to make me worry. Not since the second semester of my freshman year. If I can’t trust him to stay clean, then how can we make this relationship work?
“Please respond,” I whisper, mostly to myself, partly to my phone. He’s probably just at practice. He may not even be ignoring me. Once again, not everything revolves around me. Hunter is a big boy with his football star career only beginning. Of course he has to focus all his energy on making it big and ensuring he remains with the Bears. But I can’t help this feeling like something bad is going to happen.
My phone vibrates and I jump, nearly dropping it on the grass at my feet. “Hunter?” I ask my phone, my hopes deflating when I seeDadon the caller ID. I stifle a groan, contemplating whether I have the time to deal with another family drama. My frown deepens when I see I still have about twenty minutes left until my Photography class begins.Wonderful,I think sarcastically while pressing the green button and lifting my phone to my ear.
“Hey, Dad,” I say as cheerfully as possible.
“Hey, honey! How are you? How is school?”
I force a smile and try not to wonder what this call is about. I haven’t really spoken with Dad in a while and I feel guilty about it. It’s not his fault Mom decided to cheat on him and he has every right to divorce her. But it’s not just him. I haven’t really spoken with Mom, either. I spent the whole summer in Aurora, deciding it was better than returning to New York, given my parents were probably busy splitting their assets and deciding what to do with the apartment. I have no clue if they have decided to sell it or not. It would be a shame. New York real estate does not come cheap, and, even though it’s not technically downtown, it’s near the subway and has a plethora of restaurants surrounding it. I always thought I would inherit it, but I guess that dream has died.
“School is the same as usual, I suppose,” I say with a shrug.
I doubt Dad wants to chitchat about my photography projects or my English essays. Part of me wonders if he’s called to finally talk about my boyfriends. I grimace, hoping that’s not the case. Ever since he discovered I had multiple boyfriends after Christmas, I have been dreading “the talk.” However, Dad has yet to bring it up. Maybe he won’t. Ever. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Well, the divorce is finalized.”
I feel my heart sinking into my belly. Whatever smile I was able to bring to my lips completely disappears as his words spread through me.The divorce is finalized. It was only a matter of time,I tell myself, but still, I can’t stop the tears stinging my eyes. I swallow a sob and inhale deeply, trying to calm the slamming of my breaking heart and the flush in my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I knew this was happening. It’s just… I guess part of me hoped Mom and Dad would figure it out.
