In fact, I don’t trust myself at all. I haven’t since I went out with Henry thinking he might be about to propose and got a breakup instead. Because . . . I think, I can’t be sure, but I think when he ended it . . . I was relieved. And only minutes before I’d been prepared with the word yes on the tip of my tongue.
And that scares the holy hell out of me because I should know myself better than that . . . right? I should know who I am and what I think and how I feel . . . but I don’t.
I don’t know myself at all.
He swallows, and he must be gritting his teeth because his jaw is tight. He looks down at his feet and bobs his head in a nod. “I get it.”
He looks up and asks, “You sure you don’t need a ride home? It’s not a big deal.” But even though he’s looking at me, he’s not looking at me. His eyes are unfocused and just off to the side, and his expression is locked up tight.
And I feel so guilty, not just for what I did, but because this isn’t fair to him. He’s the collateral damage of my own indecision.
“Thanks. That’s really nice, but we can walk. It’s not far.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I reply. I stand there stupidly for a few more seconds and then walk out the door.
I turn to say one last thing, and he’s right behind me. He’s looking at me now, and I can’t read his expression.
“Sorry.” I mean it to be an apology for all of it, but I’m scared he thinks it’s just about nearly bumping into him, so I continue, “I’m sorry for being weird about all this. And thank you. For everything, not for . . .” I gesture in the general direction of where he gave me an orgasm. “That. But thanks for that also. Oh God. I’m going to go. Sorry. Thanks.”
STOP SAYING THANK YOU.
I can feel his presence behind me as I flee, and I’m wondering whether it’s worse to stay silent or to make some horrible, awkward small talk on our way down the stairs. Then I hear the door across the hall, his bedroom, click shut.
And I’m alone.
And I still have no idea what I want.
Chapter 8
Silas
I find a joint in my room, and kill the whole thing in a few minutes.
Bad decision.
She didn’t say it, but that’s what she was thinking. She wanted to avoid bad decisions, and always, no matter what I do, no matter how far away I get from the trailer park and that shack of Granny’s, I’ve got that written all over me.
The high comes on fast and hard, and I spend the next half hour, maybe more, staring at my ceiling. I’m f**king blank, barely even there. And it’s perfect.
But when I start to level out, it all gets worse.
I’m horny as hell, and the weed only amplifies it.
Instead of clearing my head and relaxing me like normal, my thoughts turn dark, and I get stuck thinking about the past. I start thinking that there’s no point. To football or classes or friendship or anything. I know where I came from, and I know where I’m gonna end up, and the longer I lie here, baked out of my mind, the more it starts to feel like those two things aren’t as far apart or as different as I want them to be.
I start laughing, and I’m not even really sure why. Only that this all feels like some script I’m playing directly into. Like these first couple years at Rusk were just the setup, letting me believe I’d moved on, created something better for myself, only to have it all start falling apart, or rather falling back into familiar territory.
I laugh even though it’s not funny, but what the f**k ever. I stumble down the stairs, and I must have been staring at my ceiling for much longer than half an hour because the party is over.
Torres is indeed passed out na**d on the floor, and someone has balanced a throw pillow on his bare ass, and that seems so damn funny to me that I forget how to breathe through my laughing.
Torres doesn’t stir. Neither does the new recruit asleep on the couch.
I make my way to the kitchen, but it feels like ages before I get there. Time never makes sense when I’m high. I blink, and it somehow feels like my eyes have been closed for centuries and seconds all at the same time. I load up on snacks, more weed, and a couple of beers. With my arms full, I turn to head back to my room only to find Torres standing at the entrance to the kitchen. He’s pulled the throw pillow around front to block his junk, and he’s looking at me through squinted eyes.
“Is it morning?” he asks me.
My chest bounces on a silent laugh, and I shake my head. He rubs a hand over his face and says, “What the f**k happened last night?”
He’s the one laughing now, and my mood turns on a dime. All of a sudden things don’t really seem that funny.
I can’t shake the feeling that last night was the beginning of the end, and everything is downhill from here.
“Nothing good,” I answer. “Nothing good at all.”
Torres groans in agreement, and stumbles off in the direction of his room, while I head up to mine. I only eat a couple of handfuls of chips before I pass out for the night. Perfect oblivion.
I keep chasing that nothingness through the rest of the weekend, switching to alcohol when I’m out of weed and too lazy to go buy more.
Brookes comes in Sunday evening. He’s the most stable in the house. He and Torres are best friends . . . both receivers. They’re the jokers on the team, but really couldn’t be more different. Torres clowns around for the attention. Brookes does it to put people at ease. He’s also a fast motherfucker, which is why I barely have time to raise my hands before he’s by my bed stripping back the sheets.
He’s holding one of those jugs of water you buy at the grocery store. Throwing it on my bed, he says, “You’ve had your final weekend of fun or whatever the hell this was. Take a shower. Drink some water. Get it the f**k together. Practice starts tomorrow.”
I groan, but I grab the water because he’s right. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Scratch that. I know exactly what happened. I’ve been trying my damnedest not to think at all.
It’s not about Dylan. She’s just a girl. A girl who is nothing like any other girl I’ve ever known, but still just a girl. It’s all of it. All the things that have happened, and all the things that haven’t, but inevitably will.
Because she was right. Levi was right. I’m bad . . . a bad decision, bad seed, bad blood . . . whatever you want to call it, that’s what I am. And it’s only a matter of time until it has me turning out just like Levi, cut off from the people I know and the only thing I love.