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“No, there isn’t.” It’s the first true thing I’ve said to her today. Because there isn’t anything going on between us... At least, not anymore.
She gives me a look that says she knows better.
“I saw you two at the party. I’ve also seen the way you two look at each other.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist, even though I desperately want to ask what she means by the way we look at each other, or more specifically about the wayhelooks atme.
“You don’t want to talk to me about it, so I won’t force you to. But I need you to know I’m here for you. Anything you need.”
“What I need is to get fall over drunk and forget what a fucking mess my life is,” I mutter, my voice hoarse as I fight back the tears threatening to spill.
“I can help with that too.” She gives me a soft smile.
“I’m in love with him.”
The words are off my lips before I can take them back. Words I’ve refused to admit, even to myself, and here I am blurting them out to my brother’s girlfriend of all people. But it feels good to say them out loud. To finally admit something I’ve been holding in for years. To free myself of something I’ve always felt like I needed to keep secret, even from my closest friends.
“I know.” She squeezes my fingers again.
“You do?” My chin quivers.
“Honey, anyone who cared enough to look could see it.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “So what happened?” She nudges my knee with hers. “Given that he wouldn’t even look at you,” she gestures behind us toward the building he just walked into moments ago, “it’s a far cry from what I saw on Saturday.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me.” I snort. “Can we not talk about it right now?” I ask, not sure I have the emotional strength to explain what transpired between Atlas and me after her and my brother went back inside, and honestly not sure if I want to either.
“If that’s what you want. Just know, when you’re ready, I’m here.” She releases my hand and stands. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”
“Wait, what?” I peer up at her, obviously confused.
“Fall over drunk, remember?”
I stand, adjusting my book bag which I swear weighs more than I do.
“And where is this happening?”
“I know a place.”
“A place?”
“Yep. You in?”
“I mean, I guess,” I reluctantly agree, not really feeling up to going out but knowing for my own sanity, I really need to.
She glances down at her watch. “Shit, I gotta go. I’m gonna be late for my next class.” She turns, taking a few steps before turning back toward me. “You just dress to kill, I’ll worry about the rest.” She smiles, throwing me a little wave before taking off up the sidewalk, leaving me to wonder what the hell I just agreed to.
——
It’s just after ninewhen Rita pulls up outside of my apartment building in the back of an Uber. I’m waiting for her on the sidewalk, mainly because I couldn’t bear to sit inside for another moment. Even though Atlas and Brennon aren’t home, it’s just hard to be in there. The memories, the smell of Atlas in the air, it’s all too much right now.
If I had somewhere else to go, anywhere, I would move out today. But alas, I’m stuck. At least for another five weeks, at which time, the semester will be over and Brennon and I will be flying home for two weeks for the holidays. Once we return, I’ll be on campus, in my own dorm, and I won’t ever have to see Atlas Keaton again. Or that’s the plan anyway.
Rita and I make small talk on the way to wherever we’re going. She doesn’t bring up Atlas and I’m grateful she doesn’t. Tonight I want to forget. About him. About us. About everything. I have to. Because if I don’t get a little relief from the grief slowly eating me from the inside out, I’m fairly certain I’m going to end up doing something I regret. Like telling Atlas how Ireallyfeel. And I think at this point we all know that wouldn’t serve to do anything but inflict more pain on my already bruised and beaten heart.
We’re in the car about twenty minutes when we pull up outside of a standalone, two story brick building that feels like it sits in the middle of nowhere but is really a few short miles outside of town. The parking lot is jammed full of vehicles and there’s a neon sign that readsVaderhanging above the front door.
“Where are we?” I ask Rita as we exit the car and head toward the front door.
“Only the best club around. You’ll see what I mean.” She winks, pulling me to a stop in front of a broad shouldered, dark skinned man sporting a backward baseball cap and a black jacket, who’s manning the front door.
