Always Forever, Page 3

  “I’m going with you. I need to look hot for his friend.”

  “You don’t know if he’s even bringing a friend,” I remind her.

  “Just-in-case procedure,” she says, hurrying after me. “Better safe than sorry is my motto.”

  “I thought ‘deny, deny, deny’ was your motto.”

  “No, that’s my back-up plan,” she corrects.

  I push into the bathroom and head straight for the mirror. “No,” I say. ‘“Run like hell’ is always plan B.”

  She drags her pinky under her lip, catching some stray gloss. “I am so disappointed in you. ‘Run like hell’ is the last resort. You need to keep these things straight.”

  “There are too many to remember,” I complain.

  She looks at me in the mirror for several seconds, her expression almost pained. “I’ll make you a playbook.”

  And she will, too.

  “Okay, how do I look?” I ask, spinning around to face her. I strike my best I’m-trying-to-seduce-you pose and pucker my lips.

  “Smoking hot. If he doesn’t do you, I will.”

  “Awe,” I croon, tipping my head to the side. “That’s so sweet.”

  “That’s just the type of person I am.”

  “Pervy?”

  “To the bone,” she breathes through a smirk. “See what I did there?”

  I shake my head and pull her toward the exit. “I really don’t. You should explain it to me on the way back.”

  We wiggle past a group of older women I think I might be related to as they make their way to the open bar. As soon as we’re out of earshot, Sadie repeats, “To the bone.” She shifts her hips, thrusting into the air. “Because people call sex boning.”

  “Humping,” I add.

  “Screwing.”

  “Nailing.”

  “Fucking.”

  I stop dead in my tracks, the smile sliding off my lips, and my words dying in my throat. Sadie takes a few more steps before she realizes I’m no longer beside her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I can’t answer. I can’t move. I can’t think, or comprehend what I’m seeing. But worst of all, I can’t look away from Kellin. Kellin, who I’ve been waiting for. Kellin, who I was so excited to see. Kellin, who I was considering moving states and schools to be closer to. Kellin, who I was so ready to give my virginity to.

  Kellin, who is in the corner, openly shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat. A really pretty girl with long legs and gorgeous hair.

  It’s like watching a car wreck. A horrible, gruesome car wreck. You don’t really want to see it, but for some reason you can’t seem to look away.

  I don’t understand.

  I blink. And then I blink again as if somehow it’ll change what I’m seeing.

  It doesn’t.

  Why is he kissing her?

  I wait for him to shove her away or scream at her or punch her in the ovaries—something. Instead, I watch in horror as he pulls her closer, dragging his hands up her sides and exposing her thighs.

  I try to replay every conversation we’ve had over the past four or five weeks. I visualize every email and text message. Our FaceTime and Skype exchanges. And I try to understand how I could have possibly misunderstood what was happening.

  “What the fuck?” Sadie hisses.

  I look from Kellin to my best friend, now fuming mad, and then back just in time to see him finally come up for air. He wipes his mouth with the pad of his thumb as his eyes scan the large banquet room. When they land on me, there’s a split second when I think I read regret in his gaze, but then he smirks, turning back to the girl beside him, and I’m forgotten.

  This isn’t really happening. Is it?

  What did I do wrong?

  Tears burn my eyes and my legs finally decide to work. I pivot on my heels, heading right back to the bathroom I just left.

  I’m not going to cry.

  I’m not going to cry.

  Shit. I’m totally going to cry.

  Please just let me make it to the bathroom.

  Fuck. I’m not going to make it.

  Here it comes.

  Don’t let him see.

  Just don’t let him see.

  A sound rips from my throat and I slap my hand over my mouth. Luckily the music is just loud enough to cover my embarrassing display. I shove my way through another group talking and laughing. The bathroom door comes into view, blurring as the tears spill over.

  I feel like I can’t breathe.

  Oh my God. I think I might be sick.

  I dash for a stall, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet. A sharp pain shoots through my joints, and though I feel it, it’s dull and diluted compared to the pain I feel everywhere else.

  Sadie bends over me, scooping up my hair and holding it out of the way just in time for me to empty my stomach. There wasn’t much in there to begin with, but it feels like it takes forever before my abdomen stops convulsing.

  Now all I’m choking on is my misery.

  Sadie rips off a wad of toilet paper and hands it to me. “You okay?” Her voice is soft, careful, because she knows I’m not okay. I feel like I’ll never be okay.

  I shake my head, scooting to my butt, and lean my back against the wall. My ears are ringing. My head is hot. Sadness drains the body quickly.

  Why does it hurt so badly? I know Kellin didn’t cheat on me—we weren’t together—but this feels the exact same way as if he had. I feel betrayed. Humiliated. Angry. And sad. God. So sad.

  I talked to him about sex—about giving him my virginity.

  How could he do this to me?

  Why? Why would he do this to me?

  “What’s going on up here?” Sadie asks gently, her fingers stoking the hair atop my head. “Talk to me.”

  “Who is that girl?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is that his girlfriend?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know, sweetie.”

  “Am I the other girl or is she?”

  She doesn’t bother repeating that she doesn’t know the answer. She just stays quiet, letting me voice my confused thoughts as she continues to caress my head.

  “How could he be so cruel? Why is this happening? Am I really this stupid? Did I misunderstand everything?”

  “No,” she says adamantly. “I was there for some of your conversations, remember? You definitely didn’t misread the situation. He’s just a fucking douche bag.”

  My chest shudders as a new wave of tears fall. “Why does it hurt so badly?”

  “I’m sorry, Misty. I’m so sorry this happened to you. But I swear, there will be other guys. Better guys.”

  I nod, not really believing her. Kellin and I clicked from the very first moment we met all those years ago. And even with the years apart, when we saw each other again last month, it was like we picked up exactly where we left off. Like we weren’t missing years of our friendship.

  At least that’s how it felt for me.

  “Can you get me some ginger ale? My stomach is killing me.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back. Do you want anything else?”

  I shake my head. What I really want is my bed, but since I’m at a wedding two states from home, that isn’t an option.

  I sigh. Hope and Mason are probably here by now and I’m hiding in the bathroom, sprawled out on a public restroom floor. This is the lowest I’ve ever been in my life. At this point, I would do just about anything to start this day over. Or skip forward until I no longer feel this way.

  4

  Kellin

  Present—The Breakup Trip-Upgrade

  “What?”

  I fucking heard her, but I don’t understand. I don’t understand how she can alter my entire life with a few short sentences.

  I don’t understand how a person can betray another person like this.

  “I said I don’t love you anymore,” Kelly, my girlfriend, says. The girlfriend who spent the last three months of our relat
ionship helping me plan a once in a lifetime summer trip—as well as fucking her ex-boyfriend behind my back, apparently.

  I guess this officially makes her my ex-girlfriend.

  My roommate, Roh, sits in the chair, just a few feet away, his jaw clenched tight. His bare toes are tapping the hardwood floor, but to his credit, he remains silent even though I can tell he’s dying to comment. He’s never liked Kelly, so I can’t tell if he’s holding himself back from cheering or from finally telling her how much he can’t stand her.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Kelly continues. Roh snorts, shooting her an incredulous look, and I just stop listening. Tears well in her eyes. She twirls a lock of her dark hair nervously. Her lips tremble as she keeps speaking—keeps trying to explain or defend or justify what she did.

  None of it means a thing to me.

  “You need to go,” I utter, cutting her off. I just need her to get away from me. Out of earshot. Out of sight. Out of my life.

  “What?” She says it as if it surprises her, not like she’s having trouble hearing. And the fact that it would shock her speaks volumes as to the type of person she is.

  How didn’t I see it sooner?

  I should have. There were signs. Like the way she always finished off the last of the milk, adding it to her morning coffee when she knows I always eat cereal before classes. Or the way she would flip the channel if she didn’t want to watch what I was watching.

  Or the way she continued to text her ex.

  I’m such a fucking dumbass.

  “He said,” Roh states evenly, leaning over the chair so that his face is just inches from hers, “take your ratchety ass out the door.”

  Kelly’s eyes narrow, the tears miraculously drying with angry efficiency. She inhales sharply, either from insult or because she’s ready to go on a rant. She has no right to either.

  “Just go, Kelly.”

  Without a second thought, I push off the couch and head straight for my room, swinging the door shut behind me. When I hear the familiar sound of her car tires screeching out of the driveway, I grab a box and begin gathering her shit that has slowly accumulated in my apartment over the past eight months, including the things she bought for me. I don’t want them.

  What’s the point?

  I hold my t-shirt—the one that somehow ended up becoming her nightshirt—and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it. Is it still mine? Should I keep it and be reminded of her every time I put it on, or should I just put it in this box with all of her other shit?

  Maybe I’m doing this too soon.

  Maybe I should wait.

  And then I shake my head, pushing the idea away. There’s no reason to wait. Nothing to fight for. She doesn’t love me. Doesn’t want me.

  What I think—how I feel—it clearly doesn’t matter. I need to turn the lock on that part of my life and be done with it. I keep looking for any sign of Kelly left in my apartment.

  As I move through each room, I try to decide what hurts more—that Kelly cheated, that she doesn’t love me—and obviously never really did, or that I’ll have to cancel our trip now that she and her friend aren’t coming, or more accurately, contributing to the costs. Roh and I can’t afford to go alone.

  I know it’s not really the vacation. Though I wanted to take this trip since I was five years old, it became something I wanted to share with her. It was the journey we’d experience with each other. The fun we’d have. The memories we would make. Together.

  It was a stupid romantic notion. One I inherited from my dad.

  I was only six when my dad died, and sometimes I have a hard time recalling what he was like, but one thing I have always remembered clearly is how much he and my mom loved each other.

  Images of Dad serenading Mom while she washed dishes or put on her make-up in the morning are vivid in my mind. Times I would find them snuggled up on the couch, watching movies. Or fighting over who forgot to refill the ice cube trays, and then making up after, dancing and kissing in the kitchen. And little things, like when he would bring home flowers and make Mom smile. Or he’d sneak up behind her and pull her into his arms. She would scream, and then nearly melt into his embrace. I’ve always wanted that with someone. Always been searching to find it.

  But Kelly and I didn’t have that kind of relationship.

  The kind run by passion and unconditional love. The true, the mad, the deep.

  We never really fought so there was never a reason to make up. Even after the bomb she dropped on me minutes ago, we didn’t argue. Voices didn’t rise, nothing was thrown, nobody said anything they wished they could take back—other than Roh calling her ratchet, but I’m sure he has no desire to retract his statement.

  I can’t recall a single time we were consumed with anger, or yearning, or sorrow for one another. Nothing wholly fervent.

  We just…were.

  And though we didn’t have the kind of love books, songs, and movies are written about, I did love her. In my own way, I cared for her, and I invested a lot of time and effort into our relationship. It hurts that she didn’t give a shit about me. But what hurts even more is knowing I may never experience the kind of love my mom and dad shared. Not if I keep choosing the wrong girls.

  The ache seems to be growing more potent as the minutes tick by. Questions mounting. Doubts rising. Loneliness setting in. It sucks when you’re left with the Why? Why did she do this to me? Why didn’t she care? Why wasn’t I enough?

  So I shove all those Why’s deep, deep down. Because in the end, the answers don’t matter. They won’t change anything.

  I drop the now full box on the coffee table in the living room and heave myself onto the couch.

  “You torching it?” Roh asks with a creepy amount of excitement in his eyes. He grins, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  I cock a brow, considering. It sounds really fucking appealing, but then I’ll have more drama to deal with later. “I just want it gone,” I finally say, though even to me it doesn’t sound remotely convincing.

  Roh nods as he scoops up the box and heads for the door. “Text her and let her know her shit will be on the porch if she wants to come back and pick it up.”

  I send the text and follow him outside in time to watch him douse the box with lighter fluid. This right here—this is what makes Roh more than a roommate. This is why he’s my best friend.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, knowing exactly what it is he’s getting ready to do. It’s only right that I pretend to care. This way I can say I tried to stop him.

  He flips his zippo, an evil smirk spreading easily across his face.

  “Oh, no, Roh,” I say flatly, not bothering to feign sincerity. “Don’t set Kelly’s shit on fire. That’s…wrong?”

  “It feels so right though.” He touches the flame to the box, lighting it up like a bonfire.

  I wish I had a bag of marshmallows.

  “You know,” Roh says, “I never liked her.”

  I nod, my eyes glued to the fire. “I know.”

  “But I’m going to miss her prancing around in those little dresses. That was nice.”

  I nod again. The girl is sexy as hell. When I first laid eyes on Kelly, scantily clad in a barely there, tight-as-hell sundress, I knew I wanted her. Once we started dating, her clothing choices became slightly more reserved, but the memory of that sundress came in handy several times during showers. Pun most definitely intended.

  “Me too,” I sigh with wistfulness.

  “Just remind yourself what a bitch she is every time you think about her while you beat off. That’s what I always do.”

  I lift my hands, palms up. “Dude. You whack it to fantasies of my girlfriend?”

  “Not today,” he replies. “And she’s your ex. I whacked it—past tense—to fantasies of your now ex girlfriend.” He sucks his lip ring into his mouth, unabashed.

  “That’s not okay.”

  “It was better than okay. I have this warming lotion I li
ke to use…”

  I walk away. Not because I’m pissed off. She is hot, so I can’t blame him. And I’ve jerked off to dirty thoughts about several of his “girlfriends” over the years. I walk away because I seriously don’t give two shits that he’s talking about Kelly that way and it’s kind of fucking sad.

  “Too soon?” he calls after me.

  5

  Misty

  “So what you’re telling me is that I have to stay here by myself, in Ohio, while you go to Chicago to sex it up for the summer?” Sadie says into the phone.

  “What kind of guy tells his woman to go fuck-crazy for three months anyway?” she continues. “And more importantly, does he have a brother you’ve been hiding from me?”

  “First off, he didn’t tell me to go ‘fuck-crazy.’ He said ‘sow your wild oats.”’ I pause, tucking the phone under my chin so I can fold the pile of shirts I just removed from my closet. “Secondly, you are welcome to come with me. And lastly, you know Luke is an only child.”

  Sadie sighs heavily. “His parents suck.”

  I blow out a soft laugh as I open my suitcase and begin filling it. “Seriously, though. Come with me.”

  “I’d love to come with you, but I can’t take three months off work. I might be able to swing a week or two since I’ve never taken a single vacation day in the three years I’ve been working for the lawyer from hell—AKA my father, but not a whole summer. How are you getting away with this? Last time I checked, you could barely afford deodorant?”

  “Are you telling me I smell bad?”

  “If the stinky armpit fits.”

  “I don’t stink,” I scoff, and then I sniff test my shirt to be sure.

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “The guys found someone to sublet my room while I’m gone, and Hope’s letting me stay with her for free. She’s going to try to get me in at the little pizza place she used to work at while I’m there too, but I actually do have a savings account. I just don’t like to use it unless I absolutely have to. It’s my rainy day fund.”

  “Your summer of fuckery reserve.”

  “You know the term ‘sowing your wild oats’ doesn’t necessarily mean sex, right?”