Just when I thought I’d had about all I can take my night takes a turn for the worst.
Drake sits on the wooden steps to my cottage and he stands up, his back as stiff as a board when he sees me approaching. “Kid, I—.”
I wave my hand and cut him off. “Don’t waste your breath. I don’t want to hear it.”
Drake blocks my front door and as I try to move around him, he moves with me. “Just let me explain.”
I stop in front of him and cross my arms. “What is there to explain, Drake? I thought you liked me. I was wrong. You led me on and then I caught you screwing around with one of my old friends. Believe me, I get it. I don’t need an explanation. Now can you please move? I’m tired.”
Drake scans me from head to toe and huffs, “What crawled up your ass and died?”
I roll my eyes. What I really want to say is you, you and your brother, who makes me feel something and who knows what that something is. But instead I say, “Nothing. Like I said before, I’m tired.”
Drake shakes his head and steps aside, extending his arm like a lowly peasant bowing before a queen. I brush passed him and stomp up the steps. All I can think about is my pillow and how in few minutes I’ll be closer to dreaming than living in this fucked up reality. I hope I have good dreams because I don’t think I can take any more bad today.
“Kid?” Drake calls and I glance at him over my shoulder as I open the door. “I never meant to hurt you to know. I just—.”
I cut him off. “I know. I know. You just don’t want to be in a relationship now, right?”
“Yeah.” Drake nervously runs a hand through his gold locks. “After Sydney, I told myself I was going to swear off of relationships for a while. I’m not with Sadie. We’re just having a little fun and I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.” He turns, shoves his hands in his pockets, kicks up sand with his bare feet as he walks away.
“Drake!” I call after him.
He stops mid-step and turns around facing me. “What’s up?”
“Can I ask you a question?” I don’t know if I love torturing myself or what is really wrong with me, but for reason I need to know if he ever liked me at all. No matter how bad it hurts and no matter how much I might regret asking him this question I know I have to.
“Sure.” He takes a few small steps closer.
“Did you ever like me like that?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You mean like, like?”
“Yes.”
He hesitates for a moment and I feel like every passing second is a decade. He’s staring into my eyes and then suddenly he breaks away from my gaze, staring out into the dark abandoned beach. He fidgets nervously for another second and replies, “No. I’ve never liked you like that.”
I stop breathing and I try to conceal the pained look that I’m certain is on my face.
Inside every part of me is shattering into a million pieces and I do my best to keep my composure. “Oh,” my vocal chords quiver. “I see.” I swallow a wad of saliva that’s built up in my throat and hurt, loathing, and anger are filling me up. I’m about to snap and sob so I tell him, “Have a good night.”
Then I run up the steps and slam my front door, crouching down behind it, hoping that before I made it into the safe-haven of the beach cottage that I didn’t give Drake the opportunity to see me cry.
~19~
Sometimes the truth hurts, but it’s always necessary and always something you need to hear.
Mom loves the phrase; the truth shall set you free.
She says honesty is better than going through life lying to everyone. After last night, I find myself wishing more than anything that Drake would have lied to me. I find myself wishing that he would have told me anything but the truth.
His words haunt me, plague me, and fuck with my emotions. No. I’ve never liked you that way. I know he doesn’t deserve any of my time. I know I shouldn’t spend any more time thinking about him, but I can’t help it. Even though he looked like he didn’t want to say those words to me, he did and I’ve replayed them over and over again in my head thinking that somehow I might be able to forget about them if I think about them too much, but I can’t. I can’t and the words are piercing through my skull, stabbing at my brain and they’re killing me.
Whit prances into the kitchen, still wearing her nightshirt. She stretches and smiles whimsically. “Good morning,” she sings. She’s giddy. I wish I felt that way. I’d give anything to feel different than the way I’m feeling now. I’d give anything to not feel like a waste.
Whit notices the depressed look I’m wearing and sits down across from me. She massages me forearm. “Robs, what’s wrong?”
I exhale and suck back the oncoming tears. “I saw Elliot last night.”