“I don’t want to get into it. I just had to get out of there.” I notice he’s alone.
“So, you don’t want to talk about it? About whatever is going on with you and my brother?” Going on with me and his brother? Nothing is going on with us. Nothing at all. Fucking absolutely nothing.
“There is nothing going on with us. We hooked up. That is all it was. Nothing more,” I say, as though I’m trying to convince myself, but I am doing a really bad job of it.
“Star, are you sure?” Why does this kid care about me so much? What have I done in my life that is actually good enough to deserve a real friend like him? Let alone after only a few days.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I lie. I shouldn’t lie to him and I feel bad. I am lying to myself, too, because I’m trying to insist that, whatever those hook ups were, it wasn’t anything worth writing home about. I’m a bad liar. I really am.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. I gotta head home for the night, but if you want, here’s my number.” He scribbles some numbers down on a scrap piece of paper on my nightstand and heads for the door. Before he walks out, he turns to me, saying a few simple words that completely fuck my head all up.
“He isn’t the bad guy he tries to be. He’s been through a lot in the past couple years. I’m sorry he hurt you.”
Like that, he’s gone, and I’m alone with my thoughts. He isn’t a bad guy? He has been through a lot? The bad guy he tries to be? I don’t know what River is trying to get at, but I just can’t put much more thought into it. Because my sanity is slowly slipping and, for once in my life, it is the result of a fucking man I actually want to give a shit about. I wish I knew why. Maybe it’s because he appears just as broken as I am? Maybe I want to fix him? Maybe I just want to hide from my own fucked up life once again. This whole life makeover really isn’t going as I had planned, that is for sure.
I don’t get undressed. I just lie down on my bed and close my eyes. Eventually my mind quits and I drift off until a fucking rude, loud banging rips me from my peaceful slumber sometime around midnight.
“Fuck off!” I scream from my bed. “Wrong room!” The banging continues. It sounds like whoever is out there is about to come through the fucking door.
“Star, open the fucking door.” Chrome’s voice instantly shakes off the fuzzy just woken feeling coursing through my body, and sends me into high alert.
“Go away!” I scream as loud as I possibly can.. I punch the pillow before hurling it across the room at the door. The banging stops, and the quiet returns to the peaceful fall night. That is when I hear a key inside the lock and my motel room door swings open.
“Are you fucking out of your mind?” I yell at him. He stands in the doorway unfazed. He has a black eye, and the smell of alcohol reaches across the room.
“We need to talk,” he slurs, staggering a couple steps in the direction of my bed. He’s going to fall, and all I can think about is him riding his motorcycle completely shitfaced. There is no fucking way he wouldn’t kill himself like that.
“We don’t need to talk. You need to go.” I point toward the door, which is still wide open.
“I didn’t mean for you to see that.” Of course he didn’t. No one ever means to get caught in a compromising position. I never meant for Seven to see me fucking her brother. But it happened, and I know what it feels like.
“Of course you didn’t want me to see that. But I did. I don’t know what your game is, but I want you gone.”
I stand up, and creep out of bed, heading for the door. I turn in his direction, just as he collapses against my bed. Fuck. My. Life. I have the worst fucking luck.
I close the door and take a few steps in his direction. Is he awake? Did he pass out?
“Chrome, you need to go.”
He ignores me and starts on a drunken tirade of complete nonsense.
“I didn’t want to like you. But I do. I don’t like women. I use them. Since her.” His hands cover his eyes as I switch on the light. But he doesn’t stop talking. “She left me. She left me with a brand new baby. I didn’t know what the fuck to do. So, I gave it to my parents. I gave my kid away like it was a pair of sunglasses or a cookie.”
I cut him off because I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know more about him. I don’t want a deeper connection. I don’t need him using me as his own fucking personal therapist. I have too much of my own shit to deal with.
“I don’t want to hear it. I can’t do this. Please. If you care about me at all, get up and leave.”
He stops rambling, moves the hand shielding his eyes, and starts speaking again. Never breaking eye contact.
“I care. I don’t want to. I do. I care. I can’t leave you tonight. I can’t let you push me away.” It’s only half coherent. He isn’t making much sense. If I wasn’t so pissed off and emotionally fucked in the brain, I might be laughing at him.
Then, the worst fucking thing possible happens. The drunk bastard passes out on my bed. Out cold. All six fucking foot five inches is dead weight on the only place I have to sleep. I can’t help it. I start to laugh. Hysterically.
I left New York City to get away from nonsense and drugs. While I may not be blowing lines of coke left and right, or even fucking drinking, the nonsense seems to fucking follow me wherever I go. I am like a bullshit magnet. I guess it’s just karma biting me in the ass.
I yawn and realize there’s no way I am getting around sharing a bed with this guy. I’m paying for this fucking room, and I am sure as fuck sleeping. Not only that, but I have a date with his daughter in the morning. What have I gotten myself into?
I curl up along the top of the headboard, trying my best to keep my distance from the drunk at the foot of the bed. I lie there for hours, trying to sleep. I nod off on occasion, but never truly get any sleep. The daylight eventually tries to peek through the fabric curtains I pulled tightly shut. I made it through the night.
I slide off the bed and head to the bathroom. A tall glass sits next to the sink and I fill it with ice cold water. I am on a mission.
I’m a bitch. I can’t help it but I am annoyed, still, hours later.
I take the glass of water and pour it all over Chrome’s head. Drenching him, the bed, and the carpet in the process. I try not to laugh as he snaps awake, scrambling around and trying to take in his surroundings. He has no idea where he is.
“Time to wake up, sleeping ugly. Your daughter is going to be here in a little bit for our painting date, and I want you gone.”
He looks around the room and tries to focus his eyes on me, but I can tell he is in bad shape. I’ve been there, so I completely know the feeling. But this time around, I can’t sympathize or feel bad for him. I want him to hurt.
“Star, I came here to talk. I think we should talk before I go. Especially if you are going to be spending time with Scarlett.”
Well played, asshole. Use the girl as an excuse. I can’t say no now. I can’t not hear him out, because I can’t back out on the painting date I made with her. That would just be an asshole move on my part.
“Speak.” That is all I can say. I have nothing left. I don’t want to have this long, drawn out heart-to-heart. I want him to speak his peace and be on his way.
“I was really young. She was even younger. I had just turned twenty-four, and she was seventeen. Looking back, I think I could say I loved her. But I honestly didn’t know love until a few years ago. She was attracted to the dangerous biker life, but it was no place for a woman or a baby. I was foolish and let her hang around the club.” He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.