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She stares at me like that’s the last thing she wants to do, but she moves off Puck’s lap and comes my way, leading me out to the kitchen. “What?”
“Why did you call me tonight?”
Her face pulls into the bored look I hate and she shrugs. “No reason. We were talking about you. Thought I’d call.”
Fucking typical. Marissa never gives anything of substance. I nod. “Okay, then we’re done here. Thanks for coming to get me, but now we’ll just go back to not being friends.” I’ve already spotted my car keys on the kitchen counter, so I swipe them up and turn to leave. I’m going to call Holly and ask her to come get me. It might be the smartest decision I’ve made all day.
She reaches for me. “Stop.”
I jerk my arm out of her hold. “Why? There’s nothing here for me.”
I’m not sure if it’s the cool tone I take with her, or whether it’s the bitter look I’m giving her that does it, but for the first time ever, she appears unsure of herself. And she gives me some real honesty. “I miss you.” She says it so softly I almost miss the emotion behind it.
I’m stunned at her confession. The thing is, I can’t say it back, because that would be a lie.
When I don’t say anything, she says, “I’m sorry for the shit I said to you.”
Her lame-ass apology means nothing to me. “I don’t believe you. And I don’t think you really missed me. I think you missed having someone to bitch to and treat like shit to make yourself feel better.”
Her lips pull into a flat line. “Look, believe me or not,” she says with some attitude, “it’s true. I shouldn’t have told you you’re a slut. Or said any of that stuff to you. You’re the only friend I ever cared about, and I miss hanging with you. And as much as you think Tommy’s a dick, he’s the one who made me realise what a bitch I’ve been to you.”
This might be the nicest thing Marissa has ever said to me. And that’s fucking sad. The years I’ve known her flash through my mind, and I’m disappointed in myself that I allowed a person like her to be my friend. That I allowed her to be the person I shared my hopes, dreams, and disappointments with when she didn’t have it in her to take any of that and guard it fiercely and with care.
And yet, I’m not done with treating myself b
adly because when Tommy joins us, holds out a glass containing God knows what, and says, “This’ll make you feel better, babe,” I desperately want that drink.
“What is it?”
“Vodka.”
He’s right; vodka will make me feel better. The way my hand’s itching to reach out and take the glass from him tells me that. But damn it, I’m trying so hard not to rely on alcohol to make me feel better anymore.
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I think I’m just gonna go home.”
He moves close. “Come on, Zara, we’ve all missed you. Stay a while. Have a drink.”
God, he’s good looking, but all I can see now is ugly. “I don’t want—”
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
I throw myself at Tommy as the loud bangs blast through me, shattering any sense of safety I feel. I’ve no idea what the noises are or where they’ve come from, but my mind tells me I should fear them with all my life and seek shelter wherever and however I can.
Time slows.
The world blurs.
My ears ring with the noise of war because that’s what this feels like to me. A goddam war I don’t think I’m ever going to win.
It’s not until Tommy says, “Fuck, Zara, it was just Jimmy’s car backfiring,” that I realise I’m screaming.
I unwrap myself from him and take a step back, completely bewildered by every-fucking-thing that has happened tonight. When he shoves the drink at me again, I don’t hesitate; I take it and guzzle that vodka down.
If it’s the last thing I do tonight, I’ll bend my mind to my will. Fuck it for thinking it can run my life.
