Then she bends down to give me a kiss on the forehead. “I had fun.” It’s all she says before she stands up and walks out of the room.
Using me.
And leaving me.
Alone again.
Present day….
Chapter 14
The Abyss
Tristan
Drink.
After drink.
After drink.
Sitting out on the porch of the motel, I grip a nearly empty bottle of vodka. I’ve fallen off the cliff again and I’m not even sure what set me off this time. Rejection from Avery? Maybe. Perhaps when she put an end to something we never really had to begin with, it gave me the final push.
Deep down, part of me knew the reason why I’ve been sober for the last three months has something to do with Avery and what she did for me that night. Because part of me had thought that maybe she is different from everyone else that has floated in and out of my life.
But there’s even more to it than just Avery. A bigger reason that is buried under years of rejection and the simple fact that I’ve never been too good at living life.
Never.
Ever.
Ever.
Not really.
The alcohol is starting to fade and my emotions prickle through, sharp and potent. Finally the agony becomes too great.
I trip to my feet and stagger toward the room five doors down, chucking the bottle on my way, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces across the parking lot. Then I bang on the door. I’m not just looking for drugs. I’m looking for something to numb all the buzzing noise and pain inside me. And when the door swings open, I’m greeted by someone who has something I know will help me.
Bury the pain.
The rejection.
The silence.
The void in my life I can only fill with alcohol and drugs.
And I fall back into the abyss.
And fall.
And fall.
And fall.
To nowhere.
Chapter 15
The epiphany.
Avery
I’ve regretted a lot of things in my life, some that weren’t in my control, though most were made by my own free will. Like the home I lived in for seventeen years. Getting married young. Conner. Every bottle I picked up.
Conner.
Not graduating from high school, but getting my GED. Having a baby so young and not being the best mother I could be.
Conner.
Not being able to provide for Mason like most moms do. Not giving him a good father. Struggling for so many years. Dying.
Conner.
And now I’ve added one more thing to that list.
Tristan.
I’m not even sure why I regret stopping the kiss, but I do. I regretted it the moment I left the alley and even more so the next day when he doesn’t show up to work on the house. The regret festers inside me more and more with each passing day I don’t see him. My worry increases when I realize that Nova is avoiding me. Whenever the two of us cross paths, all she does is wave and offer me a friendly smile. No, “Hey, let’s go hang out,” or “How are you doing?” It’s a continuous pattern that I don’t like and I hate how much I don’t like it because it means so much more than what I want it to.
When day three of no Tristan rolls around, I begin to develop an obsession, knowing something might be wrong. Even with the random, heavy-breathing phone calls I receive every day, I still can’t concentrate on anything but Tristan. That night, I have a dream. The kind of dream that seeps deep into your blood and bones, the kind you can’t forget or stop thinking about.
In it, I’m burning alive, same old, same old, until Tristan materializes in the middle of the violent flames with me, looking as horrified as he did when I told him to stop kissing me. Instead of running from the fire, he just stands there with me, burning alive. I want to open my mouth and beg him to get out, but my lips remain sealed. I want to push him back toward the door, but my feet stay firmly planted to the floor. I want to stop the fire, but just like when the fire happened in real life, I don’t stop everything from igniting into flames. And we both end up burning, watching each other fade away into the smoke and flames. When I wake up, I swear my scars feel charred all over again and I can’t shake the feeling that the dream is my subconscious trying to tell me something.
But what?
What are you trying to tell me?
As I lie in bed overanalyzing everything, my phone starts vibrating from the nightstand. I’m instantly wary about the incoming phone call, considering how late it is. The wariness multiplies when the unknown number flickers across the screen. This time, I don’t answer it. If it is Conner, I don’t want to talk to him or hear his breathing.
Eventually, the caller hangs up without leaving a voicemail, and I attempt to go back to sleep, but between the call and the dream, I’m wide awake and end up climbing out of bed to get a drink.
As I’m pouring a glass of milk, the sliding door glides open. Paranoia seizes me, and I spill milk all over the counter, reaching for a knife in the drawer, ready to fend off whoever is entering my home.
What if it’s Conner?
But Jax wanders in from outside, bringing in the faint scent of cigarette smoke with him. He’s sporting pajama bottoms and a jacket with the hood over his head. As he shuts the door, he catches sight of the knife in my hand and his jaw drops. “What the fuck, Avery?”
I lower the knife. “Sorry, I heard someone and thought…” I trail off, not wanting to worry him.
“Thought what?” he asks as he draws the hood off and unzips his jacket.
“Nothing.” I set the knife on the counter and reach for a roll of paper towels. “What were you doing out there this late at night?”
“Smoking.” He shucks off his jacket and drapes it over a table chair. “What are you doing standing in the kitchen in the dark?”
I rip off a paper towel from the roll and then flip on the light. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” He crosses the kitchen and opens the fridge. “What was it about this time?”
I pause, in the middle of wiping up the puddle of milk. “What was what about?”
He grabs a cheese stick then shuts the refrigerator door. “Your nightmare.” He faces me as he removes the wrapper. “That is why you can’t sleep, right?”
I ball up the wet paper towel and toss it in the trash. “Yeah… but how did you know?”
He peels a thin piece of cheese off. “Because I can hear you sometimes when you wake up crying from them.”
I frown as I screw the cap back on the milk. “You were never supposed to hear that.”
“I’ve heard worse.”