“Fine. Wanna know what I really think’s up?”
“Yes,” I answer, curious if she knows more than I do.
“Okay, I’ll tell you.” She pinches my nose as she wets my cheek with yet another one of her Captain Morgan kisses. “But all great things come at an expense. In order to gain entry into my psyche, you have to tell me what went down in Atlantic City. It’s that or nothing. Take it or leave it.”
I roll my eyes, aggravated that the little blackmailer’s backed me into a corner. “You win. The three of us fucked like animals. End of story.”
“OhmyGod!” Eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, she tackles me, shackling my hands behind my head as she straddles my waist. “I knew it! Kneeeew it!”
“Mad, get off of—”
“Wait!” she squeaks, pressing a silencing finger to my lips.
I roll my eyes again, knowing the real questions are about to begin.
“Everything makes sense now,” she says, tapping her chin as though she’s a detective working a case. “Your extreme bouts of depression. The way you’ve closed yourself off to everyone. You calling out of work or skipping class so you can crash in bed all day. The insane amount of crying you’ve been doing.” A frown shadows her face, all traces of excitement gone as she squishes her nose against mine. “Amber Moretti, I want the absolute truth from you right now. You need to answer me three questions before I can go on living. My life and sanity depend on it.” A pause, the shine of her teeth blinding me as a smirk encompasses her mouth. “How delicious was Ashcroft in bed? Was his cock as monstrous as rumors have it? And can the man eat a mean pussy like he’s about to fry in the electric chair?”
“Get off of me, you psycho lush!” I half snap, half giggle as I summon the strength to throw her to my side. Sadly, she’s tipsy enough that she rolls off the bed, her tiny frame hitting the wood floor with a thump loud enough to cause our neighbor below to bang on the ceiling in response. Feeling bad, I peek over the edge of the bed. “I didn’t mean to do that! You okay?”
I’m greeted with a wiseass, knowing smile. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you? Got it bad for Ashcroft.”
“What?” I question through a gasp, my heart pounding anew with a fresh round of pain the asshole’s left me with. “No, I’m not in love with him. What would even make you think that? I love Brock.”
Brock . . .
She climbs back onto the bed, cradling me in her arms like a mother would her newborn. And she thinks I’m dramatic? “Amber, I say that because of the list of emotional unpleasantries I just went through so conveniently for you, that you’ve made me endure over the last several weeks. Suck it up, you lucky slut. You have two of the hottest dudes on campus pining over you and you’re depressed, crying like it’s the end of the world because of your confusion about loving Ryder.” She takes a swig from the bottle and blows her hair away from her forehead, a huff leaving her mouth as she hands me back the liquid bliss. “Pfft, more than half the chicks at Hadley, at least the ones who aren’t carpet-munchers, would die to be in your position.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” I whisper, fighting back tears. “Ryder . . . disappeared. Hasn’t returned my calls or texts. Plain and simple: he used me the way he has every other girl he’s messed around with.” I slide from the bed and stomp across the room, wishing he were here so I could rip his balls off and feed them to him. “God! I should’ve known better!”
“Wait, stop!” Madeline hops to her feet and catches me by the arm, spinning me around. “That doesn’t seem right. What I mean is, he’s looked just as shitty as you every time I’ve seen him lately. And that’s hard for him considering he’s a walking god. Seriously, it’s like he lost someone, Amber. He looks bad enough that I actually asked him if everything was okay with Casey.”
“What are you trying to say?” I ask, confused as to where she’s taking this conversation. The Captain’s definitely drowning me in his sea. “I’m telling you he wants nothing to do with me, Madeline. Nothing.” Now I can’t help it. The tears come, falling fast, falling hard—Mr. Morgan aiding in their rapidness—as Ryder’s touch, taste, words, and face shroud my vision, every stolen and unstolen moment we shared spiraling through my memory.
Madeline’s eyes soften, her fingers stroking my tears away. “He’s missing . . . you, Amber. You have to believe me. Again, so much makes sense now. We went to Atlantic City and after that, both of you changed for the worse. He’s miserable right now and not seeing you, not calling, is the reason for it. I know it, can feel it.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I question through a sloppy, hiccupped gulp of air as I try to compose myself. I want her to shut up. Her words are making me second-guess myself, second-guess what’s really going on with Ryder. “He’s not missing me.” I chuckle through my tears, pacing the room as I simultaneously hit the bottle again and gnaw on my thumbnail. I get talented when I drink. “He’s getting off on the fact that he was able to fuck me and then get the perks of not having to deal with me and my stained past.”
She shakes her head, her hand capturing mine in a death grip. I halt, my face inches from hers. “Do you trust me?” she asks, her voice soft, soothing.
Trust. Something I’ve never felt. Though I’ve wanted to, it’s not an emotion that’s come easily for me, if at all. It’s foreign to my bones, a rite of passage to those who’ve walked the clear path of a normal life, not one planted with minefields polar opposite of what it stands for.