“You’re fucking dead!” Dad screams out.
No, not dad.
I roll over in bed, doing my best to sort fiction from reality. I gaze at mine and Luke’s clothes thrown half hazardly across the bedroom floor. The memories of last night are hazy, but my whole body is sore from our rendezvous.
The sound of glass shattering below me is followed by another scream. “Dude I didn’t fuck her!” This time I’m able to register the voice, It’s Luke’s.
I blink a few times, still feeling disoriented. I take in my body, light bruises already beginning to develop along my thighs. Little dots in the shape of fingerprints, all yellow and green. He has been ravenous, coaxing one orgasm after another out of me.
Something slams down heavily, the sound rocking the foundation of the house. It makes me jump, and I quickly get dressed as fear begins to fester inside of me.
Before I can even make it halfway down the stairs another yellcomes bellowing through. “She’s not yours to touch!”Saint. I pinpoint the voice as it freezes me in place.
“Oh and she’s yours?” Luke argues back. “Does Abby know?”
I lean against the wall, debating with myself. The violence that these men carry scares me, and I want to go down there and stop it. But another part of me, the wounded part of me, needs to hear what Saint says.
There’s silence for what feels like hours, though I’m sure it’s only a few minutes. “You know she doesn’t.” Saint finally responds. His words come out carrying pain, slightly cracking as though he’s on the verge of crying. “Please, just let me take her home.”
I choose that moment to make my presence known. I inch down the rest of the stairs, coming into sight. Both guys look over at me, as if I was interrupting some intimate moment. The vase that was once holding dried flowers is now shattered across the floor. The sunlight reflects off the glass, causing the carpet to look as though someone had poured glitter into it. Luke’s busted lip has been opened again, a small stream of blood slowly dripping down his chin. I can’t say Saint looks any better. His face is red with fury, and his shirt looks like someone had ripped through the neck hole.
Like a deer in headlights we all stand there, waiting for someone to break the tension. It’s Saint who finally caves. “Nova, I’m taking you home.”
Annoyance flickers through me, rapidly rising until it's a roaring flame. “Excuse me?” I question, looking over to Luke. He gives me an awkward shrug but won’t meet my gaze.He’s just going to let this happen.Truthfully I should’ve known better. Luke and Saint are best friends. Why had I expected him to stay by my side?
“Nova,” Saint starts off, breathing out a heavy sigh, “please just go get in the car.”
My eyes dart back to Luke, frustrated at his lack of care. Still, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t look at me, he doesn’t look at Saint. He keeps his eyes glued to the shattered glass.
“Fine.” I finally growl out, throwing my hands out in front of me as I give up. My mind and body are too sore to fight any harder. It’s not like either of them seem to care what I want anyhow.
I stomp past Saint on my way out, pausing for just a moment to glare at him. He doesn’t bother to look over, too fixated on Luke as his chest rises and falls with anger.
Like a small child throwing a tantrum, I allow the door to slam shut behind me. It’s heavy thud follows behind me as I walk over to Saint’s truck. The engine is still running, as if he knew he would only be here for a short period of time. I climb in, settling myself in the passenger seat. The AC cools my burning skin and I turn the blades until the air is fanning against my face. The door to the house stays closed for much longer than I had expected. Granted, I thought he would’ve been right on my heels, ready to berate me as if I was some small child. The thought of that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Reminding me too much of my father.
Finally the door swings open, putting Saint right in my view. He clenches his jaw as he takes me in, but the closer he gets, the more I notice his anger transforming into pain. The pain I had heard in his voice when he asked Luke to take me home.
“We’re going to my place.” Saint snaps out as he swings open the driver's side door.
“No.” I argue back immediately. “You said you were taking me home.” I go to reach for the handle before I hear the familiar click of the door's locking mechanisms.
“We need to talk,” he growls back, “you can’t just ignore me forever.”
I sure could try.I think to myself, although I end up keeping my mouth shut. Curiosity did kill the cat.
We drive in complete silence. Uncomfortable silence. My fingers itch to pry themselves open. The closer we get, the sicker to my stomach I feel. I don’t know what he wants from me, he’s already broken me down more than I thought I could be. I had arrived back in Melrose in small little pieces. Pieces my mom has been fighting to glue back together. Yet here he is, intertwining himself in between each broken sliver, stretching them farther and farther apart. He’s made me hate myself so deeply even I’m impressed with the damage. Because of him, I’ve become a monster. There’s no world where Abby doesn’t find out about this. That she doesn’t see that she opened her heart up to a broken little girl, only to become collateral damage.
He pulls the truck into the empty parking lot, shutting off the engine and getting out without a word. I bite back the anger resting on my tongue.Does he just expect me to follow him like a lost puppy?
I follow him anyway, at a loss at what else I could do. I’d rather rip this Band-Aid off now than to continue to live each day as if I’m one small thread away from the rope that is holding me up snapping. I can’t continue this confusing back and forth.
The hallway of doors has started to become familiar to me. I take in all the cracks I’ve noticed, each one creating their own unique shape. The light hits the edges, casting shadows that stand still along the drywall.
Saint opens the door and we walk into his home. It takes me a moment to notice all the changes. The dishes that have begun to pile. The trash that is a few days overdue for being taken out. My eyebrows scrunch together as I look around at the filth, curious as to what caused the change. I can’t imagine Abby living like this.
Saint sits down at the kitchen table, staying completely oblivious to my wandering eyes. Instead he peers up at me. His blue eyes shimmering underneath the dark lashes. “Did you two have sex?” He asks. His voice catches slightly, as if the idea disgusts him.
“That’s none of your business.” I respond back blandly, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
