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Matt
I’m six beers in by the time ten o'clock rolls by, and it’s still not enough to get Rowan Bates off my mind, even for a brief moment. The bar is slow tonight, but random stragglers come in and out of the cold, taking shots and even going for a quick game of pool or darts. I don’t bother to turn around. Really, I can’t. I don’t care, not anymore. It’s all I can do to find the physical effort to lift my head and order another beer.
After another moment, my phone buzzes, and I almost don’t check it. It’s been going off all night, ever since I confronted Carly and spilled everything to her. Bryce has been calling repeatedly, and even Dereck has texted me multiple times. They want to know what to do now, I know they do, but I don’t really have an answer for them.
Because I’m not sure that what I did was right.
I pound down another beer in under ten seconds flat, slapping it down on the table, just as another small group of people come stumbling through the door. Jocks, they looked like; probably friends of Dereck. They look like they’re already drunk, but I don’t give a shit. I wish I was that drunk.
“Hey, lady,” one of the loud mouth’s hollers across the room. “Can we get a round of shots?”
The bartender rolls her eyes, catching my gaze, and I smile sympathetically. I don’t even have the energy to put these assholes in their place. Not today, anyway. Am I any better than them?
A half an hour later, as I finish off my last beer, the door opens again, and two people come in. Jamie is the first, and Rowan is the second. For a split moment, I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s been crying, it’s clear, and her freckled face is rubbed red and raw, eyes darkened from the damp mascara stains beneath her lids. She has her head down as she follows Jamie to the other side of the room. They haven’t noticed me yet, and I plan to keep it that way. I really don’t need this tonight.
Shrugging my jacket up as high as it goes, I stay seated at the bar for a moment, finishing off my beer. I can’t hear Jamie and Rowan’s conversation, but that’s probably for the better. What I do hear, however, is the group of jocks in the back, and they’re getting rowdy. And drunk. It annoys me.
Figuring I could slip out of here and go home before shit hits the fan, I pay my tab and start to get up, but one of the guys is still talking loudly, and I hear a comment that piques my curiosity.
“Hey, you,” one of the jocks says, and I turn on my stool, just a little bit, to see two of the men approaching Rowan and Jamie’s table. One of them has a piece of paper in his hand, and I watch as he hands it to Rowan. “Is this you?” he asks.
For a moment, I can’t even begin to assume what this paper is, but I note Rowan’s reaction immediately. She swallows, hard, and with trembling fingers hands it across the table to Jamie, whose brows furrow as her words scan the page. I see Jamie look up at the guys standing near their table, and she looks angry suddenly, hands flinging in the air, a scowl on her face. Rowan isn’t saying anything, but she is once again crying.
Pain rips at me, a pain so intense I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything like it before. Whatever it is, it’s bad, and I’m almost afraid to find out.
“So, is that you?” the other guy asks, pointing at the paper. Rowan doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to, because Jamie is on her feet, voice rising with every moment that passes.
“Get the hell out of here,” she says. “And take this with you.” She slams the paper against the chest of the first guy, who shrugs and looks at his buddy, who laughs. I don’t realize I’m cracking my knuckles in annoyance until my fingers begin to hurt. The guys high-five each other and then head in my direction, towards the bar.
“Hey, cutie,” one of them says to the bartender. “Can we get another round, please?”
“Sure,” she mutters, clearly annoyed. I sneak a glance at the two men beside me, eyes landing on the paper in the second guy’s hand.
“Have you got something funny there?” I ask. The guy turns to me, just noticing I’m sitting there.
“Oh,” he says with a shrug, handing me the slightly crumpled sheet of paper. I take it from him and spread it out on the bar in front of me, eyes scanning the paper.
It’s a photo of Rowan, as a younger girl, when she was still awkward and geeky, with glasses, and braces, and the whole shebang. Right below this photo are the words, “Virgin Mary, or College Whore?”And below that are two boxes that anyone can check for their vote.
Fucking Carly.
Anger simmers below the surface of my chest, hot, dangerous, ready to explode. I close my hand around the sheet of paper, crumpling it in my fingers, and then toss it aside, into the little trash bin on the other side of the bar. The two guys look at me, frowning, and I lean in and lower my voice, forcing them to come closer.
“Stay away from that girl—”
“And if we don’t?” One of the guys asks, fists pumping menacingly. A smile curls on my lips and I slide off the stool, getting to my feet in one, quick motion. This startles both of the guys, because they back up, hesitant.
“If you don’t, I will make it my personal goal to smash both of your faces in until you’re no longer recognizable. Is that clear?”
For a moment, I think at least one of the guys will argue, but after a moment the first one nods, then the second.
“Good,” I say, slapping one of them on the shoulder. “Pass the word around.”
Without waiting for an answer, I slip past them and out the door, careful not to look towards Rowan’s table again. I don’t want her to see me.
I can’t.
Because the pain in her face is far too much for me to handle.
And all of this is happening because of me.
