Not Katie. Not Katie. Not Katie.
“Are you okay?”
Fuck no.
I braced my hand on the wall of a shower, feeling how solid it was. I needed something to hold me up, brace my shaking body. The hot water coursed down my back, pattering on the floor of the shower. Each little splash said something to me, blurring together until I couldn’t tell them apart.
NotKatienotKatienotKatienotKatie.
“Look, I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I’ve been in love with you for so long and I took my chance.” Ric wasn’t in love with me. Not really. She’d just told herself she loved me so many times that she’d started believing it.
“Go away, Ric.”
“Stryker, I —”
“Just…leave.” I spat the words out through my clenched jaw.
I was being a dick to her, but that was what I did. I was a dick. I pushed people away. It was so much easier than caring.
“Well, um, thanks for…thanks.” Her footsteps retreated and a few moments later my door closed.
I stood in the shower until the hot water turned cold, but I didn’t move. It was like, if I moved, the reality of what I’d done would see me out of the corner of its eye and come rip my throat out. Part of me wished it would so I would stop thinking about it.
When my shivers became too much, I shut off the shower and finally took my pants off and grabbed a towel. I rubbed myself dry, wishing I actually felt clean. My fingers had pruned up from being in the shower so long. Avoiding the couch because it still smelled like sex, I grabbed the bottle of scotch and headed to my bedroom.
I pulled on a pair of boxers, realizing only after I got them on that they were the ones Katie had worn just a few days before. I’d only washed them when her scent had faded, but somehow, I could still almost smell her.
I took another hit off the scotch bottle and lay back on my bed. The apartment was too quiet, but if I put on any music, I would think of her, so I didn’t.
I’d literally tried to f**k my sorrows away, and now it was time to try to drink them away instead. It was no use, because they’d find me eventually, but maybe I could avoid them for a few more hours.
Maybe.
I lit a cigarette, even though I never smoked inside. The glow of it and the haze of the smoke were comforting.
Not. Katie. Not. Katie. Not. Katie.
Katie
I had no doubt in my mind that the second I left the house, my mother would have a scrub brush and a bucket of industrial strength cleaner out quicker than you could say, “Mr. Clean”. That was fine. Next time I was home, I’d do the same thing again. What was she going to do? Scrub my walls every time? Remove all the markers like I was five?
Dad was feeling better and up and about, and gave me a nice long hug before I left.
“Believe in yourself, Katiebug. I know I do.”
Mom’s hug was quick and limp. She was still pissed about the cleaning, but she told me she loved me and I said it back, because, at the end of the day, I did love her.
Kayla had left the day before with Adam because they had to get back to Africa. She’d given me a gigantic hug and said that she was planning to buy a computer so we could Skype. Adam also gave me a hug and a wink and said he’d see me on the flipside. I gave Kayla a look, but she just gazed adoringly at him.
My drive back to school seemed to take longer than normal, and it wasn’t because I drove slower. Or maybe I did, unconsciously. I was more than eager to get back to the dorm, back to my life, or whatever it was now, but there was just one little thing holding me back. Well, one big thing. Named Stryker Abraham Grant.
I had no idea what his parents were thinking when they named him, but for some reason, his name made complete sense.
I turned on the radio, irritated at myself for thinking about him. Why did I feel like I’d just been through another breakup? We weren’t even together. Stryker and I…we weren’t even friends. So why did I feel like I wanted to wallow in misery and never leave my bed again?
Stupid boy. Stupid boy and his stupid blond hair and his green eyes and his musical talent and his lips that kissed like he was trying to put out a fire and his smirk and his tattoos and his h*ps and his hands and…
Stupid, stupid, stupid boy.
***
“I’ve missed you so much. Is that weird? I know I just saw you a few days ago, and we talked on the phone, but it feels like forever and I’m just really glad you’re back,” Lottie said the second I walked into our room and dropped my bag. Damn, I’d even missed her verbal vomit.
My face cracked into a smile before I realized what I was doing.
“So how were things at casa Hallman?”
“Faaaabulous,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I managed to piss my mom off at least once a day.”
“Yeah, well I thought Trish and Will were going to kill each other over a simple game of Monopoly, so I get it.” No, she didn’t. Everyone loved Lottie. Even when she wouldn’t stop talking. It added to her adorably awkward personality.
I shoved aside my problems and we caught up. God, I’d missed her so much.
“So what happened with Stryker? With the whole apology thing?” I had been vague on the details of my little Thanksgiving stunt. Especially since it ended up blowing up in my face.
“I drove my ass back to his apartment and cooked him dinner in the middle of the night. Then we went to bed and when we got up he said he didn’t want to see me anymore, which is dumb, because we weren’t dating.”
Her expression was confused. I hadn’t told her I was dating him, but I hadn’t told her I wasn’t. It was exactly as Stryker said. I didn’t want her to think less of me.
“You weren’t?”
“Not really.” I sunk back into the mountain of pillows on my bed. I’d missed that too. There was nothing quite like falling into them after a shitty day.
“So you guys weren’t dating, but you broke up?”
“I guess. All I know is that he doesn’t want to see me anymore. So I’m not going to see him anymore.”
“By see him you mean…”
I started laughing again.
“I don’t even know what that means either.”
A loud and frantic knock put pause on that conversation. Audrey and Trish burst in, Will, Simon and Zan following along behind a little less enthusiastically.
I was hugged and I couldn’t help but hug and smile back. I’d missed them. I didn’t know how much until I saw all of them standing in front of me. Even Zan, who gave me a semi-hug and a smile. I almost asked him about Zack. Almost.
The words drowned in my throat and I wasn’t going to bail them out.
We all ended up sitting on our floor, passing around the leftover pies Audrey brought up, eating straight from the pans, all our forks fighting for the best bites, and swapping holiday stories. I sat back against a pile of my pillows and listened. It was such a relief to fall back into this life, into this place where I was surrounded by people who cared about me and missed me and wanted to share things with me.
Not that my family wasn’t like that, but this group was different. They didn’t have to like me. They chose to spend time with me. They showed up at the hospital and sat and waited for me. I still wanted to cry every time I thought about that.
“So what did you do to my brother?” Trish said, scraping the last bits out of one of the pie pans. “Because he’s like, so emo right now, I’m afraid he’s going to start painting his nails black and only listening to really crappy music.”
Every set of eyes swiveled in my direction and every voice went quiet. Fantastic.
“I didn’t do anything to him.” I readjusted the pillows behind my back so I wouldn’t have to focus on them all.
“Well, something happened because he drunk-texted me late last night telling me that he loved me. Actually, he said he “lobed” me, but that’s beside the point. Stryker never uses that word unless he’s wasted. So. What happened?”
“Trish,” Lottie said, making her name two syllables. “This probably isn’t the right venue.”
“Oh, whatever,” Trish said, tossing the fork in the pie pan and setting it on the floor. Will cleared his throat and Simon looked around, as if the room was really interesting. Zan just kept rubbing Lottie’s back. Audrey gave me a sympathetic look and I wanted to melt into the floor and sink into the linoleum.
“Just let me say one more thing. I know he’s my brother and all and I give him shit a lot, but he’s actually a decent guy, and I think you two are great together. Okay, I’m done.”
Will coughed again and the topic changed to bitching about how much we didn’t want to start classes the next day.
***
“What happened with Stryker? I know you didn’t want to say in front of everyone, but you can talk about it. You know, if you want. No pressure.” Sure there was pressure. There was so much pressure I could feel its hands around my neck, and its insistent voice in my ear.
“Okay, but this falls under the roommate umbrella of secrecy. No twindar, or any of that.”
“If there’s one thing that Will doesn’t want to know about, it’s other people’s relationship drama, so no worries. He’ll probably beg me not to tell him anyway. So, your secret is safe.”
“So I didn’t want to tell you this, but Stryker and I weren’t dating, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t hav**g s*x.” I paused, waiting for her reaction. I expected surprise, not for her to snort and say, “And?”
“You knew?”
“First, I’m not blind, and second,” she said, holding up one, then two fingers, “I’m not an idiot. We all knew.”
Now I was the one surprised.
“Everyone?”
She nodded. Well, shit. I guess we weren’t as covert as I thought.
“Great. They must all think I’m a slut.”
Lottie scoffed, making this little snorting noise.
“No one would think that.”
I gave her a look. “Not even after everything I did with Zack?”
She shook her head again.
“We just want you to be happy, and it seems like Stryker makes you happy. So what happened?”
I took a deep breath and went into the whole story, giving her every detail from the Thanksgiving dinner I cooked, to our kiss to when he told me he wanted to wait to have sex. She was uncharacteristically silent the entire time, and her silence reeled the story out of me, including tearing up the pictures with Kayla and writing on my wall and the fight I’d had with my mom. I kept talking and talking, the words spilling out of me and into the air, filling the room up with my voice and my insecurity and my confusion and my hurt.
“And I have no idea what to do. None,” I said, finally done.
“You, my dear,” she said, raising her hands above her head to stretch, “are in a pickle.”
“I guess that’s one way of thinking about it. ‘I’m f**ked’ seems more appropriate.”
“Well, if you want my two cents, I’d say you give him his space. He’ll come to his senses.”