A guttural sob escapes her body, and she tightens her grip on my shirt. I pull her close and hold on tight.
She pulls back and places her hands on my cheeks, tears and pain filling her eyes. “The hurt I’ll cause you will far outweigh any love you hold for me.”
“Impossible. You grossly underestimate my ability to love, Tink.”
She watches her fingers as they travel down my chest, landing at my waist. She grips my shirt and releases a ragged breath.
“And you underestimate my ability to cause pain.”
She sobs as the words leave her mouth, and I can’t take another second of this. I crash my lips to hers and take what I want … what I need. I want to swallow her grief and replace it with every magical and hypnotic feeling she breathes into me. I want her to know she is more than her sorrow.
She falls into me, if only for a moment, and I’m lost in sweet lips and salty tears. She lets her instincts and the undeniable chemistry between us guide her for a few seconds before her fucking head takes over. Her body tenses in denial, hands pushing away, body swaying, her lips ripping from mine. She covers her mouth with her hand and runs from me, leaving only her whispered plea echoing in the hallway.
“Move on, Cain.”
The shot glasses line the bar like tiny trophies, although there is nothing celebratory about them. No matter how many I add to the stack, I can’t make my mind incoherent enough to forget this fucking night. No amount of whiskey can erase the truth.
She doesn’t want me.
I’ve been clinging to the hope that time would fix things between us. I hoped she would come to her senses and admit she misses me as much as I miss her. As much as it hurts to admit it, it’s clear now she only misses her friend. She doesn’t love me the way I love her. I feel like such an idiot. I could feel it … I could feel her. How could I have been so wrong about this?
After the confrontation by the bathroom, I left without a word of goodbye to anyone. I couldn’t breathe, and the pressure in my head was blinding. I ended up at Smitty’s, a dive bar a few doors down from The Courtyard. It’s as good a place as any to tie one on.
The night burns away into vapor, and patrons file out of the bar at a rapid pace as the clock ticks closer to sunrise. Closing time is upon us, and the thought of going home is crushing. Smitty eyes me expectantly, waiting for me to leave, but he’ll have to say the word. Even a washed-up bar owner is better company than no one at all.
“Cain?” I turn around slowly in an effort to stay upright on my barstool, and I see long black hair, big red lips, and plunging cleavage. I’m so damn drunk I can’t make out much else. “I thought that was you. I looked through the window of the bar while passing by and … well, anyway, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
She leans in, hugging me and placing a lipstick-laden kiss on my cheek. I pull her back to get a better look, and nostalgia punches me in the face.
“Kimberly, wow,” I mumble with a smile. I hold onto her shoulder for balance, and she helps me sit up straight with a laugh. “It’s been a long, long … long time.”
“Yeah, it has. You look great,” she laughs and shakes her head. “Amazingly drunk, but great all the same.”
I laugh at her compliment, feeling every bit of my amazing drunkenness. “And you … you’re just plain amazing.”
Kimberly was always a beautiful girl. Her looks were never the problem. She wanted a lot more than a good time, and I wanted a companion to the many keggers I frequented. We weren’t exactly a match made in heaven.
“Riiiight … please tell me you and that cloud of whiskey vapor surrounding you didn’t drive here tonight?”
“Nope. I walked. My apartment is right up the street.” I point left, then think better of it, and point right. Shit, maybe it is to the left … who knows, but I’m sure I’ll stumble upon it at some point.
“I see,” she giggles and snakes an arm around my waist. I hop down from the barstool and feel her urging me toward the exit. “Why don’t I walk you home? I can make sure you don’t end up in the river, and we can catch up … talk about old times.”
I stop moving forward to think on Kimberly and old times. My brain can’t seem to walk and think simultaneously, and the room tilts on its axis when I look up and weigh my options. Her long fingernails dig tightly into my bicep, and I focus my attention back on those plump red lips.
I think back on our college ‘relationship’ through whiskey-tinted goggles, and realization washes over me. Was Kimberly a little pushy? Sure. Did she doodle Kimberly Bennett on any blank surface she could find, and plan out our wedding in painstaking detail? Most probably. But did she ever, even once, make me feel unwanted or unloved?
Not one fucking time.
Move on, Cain.
So I give in to the memories. I put my money on nostalgia. Relationships have been built on much less. History has a way of binding people, and tonight, I’m willing to take a chance on the past.
Move on, Cain.
I wrap my arm around her waist and give it a squeeze, smiling. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot, babe.”
And here I go, jumping in with both feet … moving the hell on with my life.
“Rusted From the Rain” by Billy Talent
Present Day
“ARE YOU GOING to keep your promise?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Lucas. I want to keep my promise, but between you and your parents, it’s very difficult.”
At the mention of his parents, his expression goes hard, and he leans back and crosses his arms. “They won’t take my calls anymore. I called twice this week, and they wouldn’t talk to me.”
I wish I could knock some sense into Mrs. Cindy and Mr. Gene, but I know they aren’t the only ones to blame in this instance. Lucas and his parents have developed a wildly dysfunctional cycle of pushing each other’s buttons to get what they want. Sadly, it doesn’t work for anyone, but they continue to bang their heads up against the same concrete wall.
“Did you threaten them?”
When his eyes dart away from mine, I have my answer. I release a sigh and pray for patience. I don’t have the strength to fight this never-ending battle, so I choose to change the subject.
“Are you hearing voices today?”
“You know I am.”
“Do you see hallucinations?”
“You know I do.”
Lucas’s jaw tenses in frustration, and his voice is tight and irritated. He prefers to ignore the illness, pretend any type of treatment would be futile.
“Will you elaborate? Please?”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Why do we do this? Why does it matter?”
“Because one day, something will change. Either you or your parents will bend, and the more I know about your struggles, the better I can help you,” I explain for what feels like the hundredth time.
His shoulders visibly relax, and he stares out the window. “The voices are quieter this week. Sometimes they yell, and I can’t think … I can’t sleep … it’s more than I can stand.” He shifts forward and rests his elbows on the table and meets my eyes. “For the last few days, it’s more of a whisper over my shoulder. When they whisper, the headphones help.”
I reach out and squeeze his clasped hands. “That’s good to hear.”
“When I listen to the music and close my eyes, I can almost pretend I’m at home, sitting at my desk, working through the numbers.”