Zed insists on walking me up. As much as I think that will not end well, I don’t know if I’m capable of getting myself up to the apartment alone in my intoxicated state.
Damn Hardin for leaving me at that party. Damn me for being an impulsive idiot. Damn Zed for being so sweet and fearless when he shouldn’t be. Damn Washington for being so damn cold.
When we reach the elevator, my head begins to pound along with my heart. I need to go over what I’m going to say to Hardin. He’ll be so mad at me, and I need to think of a good way to apologize without using sex. I’m not used to being the one to apologize for anything, because he’s always the one who messes up. Being on this side of things doesn’t feel good at all. It feels terrible.
We walk down the hallway, and I can’t help but feel as if we’re preparing to walk the plank. I just don’t know whether it will be Zed or myself that drops down into the water.
I knock, and Zed stands a few feet behind me as we wait for the door to open. This was a terrible idea, I should’ve just stayed at the party. I knock again, this time louder. What if he doesn’t answer?
What if he took my car and isn’t even here? I didn’t think of that.
“If he doesn’t answer, can I go to your place?” I try to hold my tears back.
I don’t want to stay at Zed’s and make Hardin even more upset with me, but I can’t really think of another option.
What if he doesn’t forgive me? I can’t be without him. Zed’s hand touches my back, and he rubs up and down to soothe me. I cannot cry, I need to be calm when he answers . . . if he answers.
“Of course you can,” Zed finally replies.
“Hardin! Please open up,” I quietly beg and rest my forehead against the door. I don’t want to yell and cause a scene at nearly two in the morning; our neighbors probably have issues with us yelling enough already.
“I guess he’s not going to answer.” I sigh and lean up against the wall for a minute. Then, finally, as we turn to walk away, the door clicks open.
“Well . . . look who decided to show up,” Hardin says as he stands in the doorway and eyes us. Something about his tone sends chills down my spine. When I turn to face him, his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are pink. “Zed! Pal! It’s so nice to see you,” he slurs. He’s drunk.
My thoughts suddenly clear. “Hardin . . . have you been drinking?”
He looks at me imperiously, clearly unsteady. “What’s it to you? You have a new boyfriend.”
“Hardin . . .” I don’t know what to say to him. He’s obviously wasted. The last time I saw him this drunk was the night Landon called me to come to Ken’s house. With his father’s history of drinking, and the way Trish was so fearful that Hardin had began to drink again, my heart sinks.
“Thank you for bringing me home, I think you should go now,” I politely say to Zed. Hardin is too drunk to be around Zed.
“Noooo-ho-ho . . .” Hardin exhales. “Come on in! Let’s have a drink together!” He grabs Zed’s arm and pulls him through the doorway.
I follow them in, protesting, “No, this is not a good idea. You’re drunk.”
“It’s fine,” Zed tells me, waving me off. It’s almost like he has a death wish.
Hardin stumbles over to the coffee table, grabs the bottle of dark liquor standing on it, and pours the liquid into a glass. “Yeah, Tessa. Chill the fuck out.” I want to yell at him for speaking to me that way, but I can’t find my voice. “Here you go—I’ll get another one. One for you, too, Tess,” Hardin mumbles and walks into the kitchen.
Zed sits in the chair, and I take a seat on the couch. “I’m not leaving you here alone with him. Look how drunk he is,” he whispers. “I thought he didn’t drink?”
“He doesn’t . . . not like this. This is my fault.” I put my head in my hands. I hate that Hardin is drunk because of what I did. I wanted us to have a civil conversation so I could apologize for everything.
“No, it’s not,” Zed assures me.
“This one’s . . . for you,” Hardin says loudly as he bursts back into the room and hands me a glass half full of liquor.
“I don’t want any more. I drank enough tonight.” I take the glass from his hands and set it on the table.
“Suit yourself, more for me.” He smiles at me something evil, not the same as the smile I’ve grown to adore. I’m honestly a little frightened. I know Hardin would never hurt me physically, but I don’t like this side of him. I would rather him be screaming at me or punching a wall than sitting here drunk off his ass and being so calm. Too calm.
Zed gives a little “cheers” and brings his drink to his lips.
“This is just like old times, isn’t it? You know, back before you wanted to fuck my girl,” Hardin says, and Zed spits his drink back into the glass.
“It’s not like that. You left her there, and I just brought her home,” Zed says in a threatening tone.
Hardin waves his own drink in the air. “I’m not just talking about tonight, and you know it. Though I am pretty annoyed by you taking it upon yourself to bring her home. She’s a big girl, she can fend for herself.”
“She shouldn’t have to fend for herself,” Zed fires back.
Hardin slams his glass onto the table, and I jump. “That’s not up to you! You wish it was, though, don’t you?”
I feel like I’m in the middle of a gunfight, and I want to move, but my body won’t allow it. I watch in horror as my Mr. Darcy begins to transform into Tom Buchanan . . .