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“What did she want?”
“She was looking for you. I told her you didn’t want to talk to her. I told her she had a lot of nerve coming back here.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to breathe through my anger. “I guess that means she’s staying somewhere on the island.”
“I took her number down. I know you don’t want to call her, but it was the only way she would leave.”
“Did you tell her I don’t live there anymore?”
“I didn’t know what you wanted me to say, so I just told her you moved out of state. She was surprised.”
I laughed once. “Not as surprised as we all were to see her! Why won’t she leave me alone? She ruined everything when she came back!”
“What did she ruin? You’re living in The Golden State with the man of your dreams.”
“Yeah. It’s really golden here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling annoyed.
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
My temper flared. “You absolutely should have told me! You’re supposed to tell me everything!”
“Am I? Like you’re telling me everything?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Go have another drink. Forget I even called.”
The phone beeped in my ear. When I looked at the screen, the call had disconnected. Shelly hung up on me.
When I returned behind the bar, Dave was pouring Brooke and her friends another round of shots. I slid another glass over to him.
He raised his eyebrows at me. “You okay?”
“I’m fabulous.” We clinked glasses, and I succumbed to the desires of my rage.
Three shots later, I was feeling better. I kept checking the time, wondering when Chase would step through the door. The customers shouting drink orders had finally died down, all of them now bumping and grinding against each other on the dance floor. This was the perfect time to take my break. It was stifling in the packed bar, and I needed some air.
“Dave,” I called. “I’m going outside.”
“Take your time,” he shouted back.
It was difficult getting through the crowd, and the buzz from the shots did not help as I was unsteady on my feet. I used my elbows to push people aside, clearing a path for myself until I reached the front door. Outside, the warm breeze felt cool against my dampened skin. I watched as half-naked girls puffed on their cancer sticks, laughing and shouting at each other as they passed by. I missed hanging out with Shelly, and I felt guilty for arguing with her earlier. She was calling to let me know what happened with Claire, and I had no right taking my frustrations out on her. I tapped out a text, but then deleted what I had typed; it was late, and I would call her in the morning to smooth things over.
I felt calmer than before with the alcohol now numbing my senses. I knew it was wrong, but I preferred this version of myself. Why feel wound-up and anxious, when I could feel relaxed and at-ease? Maybe this is why everyone living in LA seemed so laid-back – they allowed themselves to have fun and feel good.
Five minutes later, I was back inside pushing my way through the mob again. I felt like a pinball, knocked around from side to side by everyone dancing to the beat. There were no openings to squeeze through. As I shoved people aside, a fight suddenly broke out next to me. One man swung at another, but he missed. The other man rammed into his midsection, and I was thrown to the ground as they fell down on top of me with their beer bottles in hand. I shielded my face from the broken glass, and all the pairs of feet stomping around me. I tried to push myself off the floor, but a sharp pain went through my left hand.
“Get off!” I screamed at the men who continued the scuffle on the floor.
The next thing I knew, I was being lifted off the floor. Two familiar arms scooped me up and carried me behind the bar, setting me down into a chair. I looked up to see Chase.
“Oh my God! Merritt!” Brooke’s shriek was loud as she came running.
I stared at my hand that was now throbbing, and saw a large glass shard sticking out of the puffy skin under my thumb. After my father’s suicide, I did not do well with blood. The room started to spin, faster than it already was due to the alcohol. I felt very faint as I watched the blood drip down my wrist. Moisture filled the back of my throat, like it often did right before I was about to throw up.
