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“He’s an ass,” Kimberly insults Hardin, as if I didn’t already know he’s an asshole. “You know he will come back; he always does,” she says against my hair. I look at her, and I can see the anger and the protective-friend threat in her eyes.
I gently pull myself out of her arms and shake my head. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m okay,” I chant, more so to myself than to Kim.
“You aren’t,” she corrects me, tucking a wild strand of my hair behind my ear.
I get a glimpse of Hardin’s hands doing that exact gesture, and I pull away. “I need a shower,” I say to my friend, just before I lose it.
NO, NOT BROKEN. I’m not broken; I’m defeated. What I feel right now is purely defeat. I’ve spent months and months fighting against the inevitable, pushing against a current that was much too big to brave alone, and now I’ve been swallowed into it with no lifeboats in sight.
“Tessa? Tessa, are you okay?” Kimberly yells from the other side of the bathroom door.
“I’m fine,” I manage, the words sounding as weak as I feel. If I don’t feel an ounce of strength, I can attempt to hide some of the weakness.
The water is cold now, it’s been cold for minutes . . . maybe even an hour. I haven’t the slightest idea of how much time I’ve been in here, crouched down on the floor of the shower, my knees folded against my chest, the cold water spraying down on me. It was borderline painful a while ago, but my body went numb a few Kimberly checkups ago.
“You have to get out of that shower. Don’t think I won’t break the door down.”
I don’t doubt for a second that she would do just that. I’ve ignored that threat a few times already, but this time I reach up and turn the shower off. Still, I make no move to leave my spot on the floor.
Seemingly satisfied that the water’s gone off, I don’t hear from Kimberly for another little while. But the next time she pounds, I call back to her, “I’m getting out.”
By the time I stand up, my legs are wobbly and my hair is almost dry. I dig into my bag and go through the mechanics of pulling on my jeans, one leg, then the next, lift arms above head, pull shirt down over stomach. I feel like a robot, and when I wipe my hand across the mirror, I see that I look like one, too.
How many times will he do this? I silently ask my reflection.
No, how many times will I let him do this? That’s the real question.
“No more,” I say out loud to the stranger looking back at me. I will find him, this last time, and only for the sake of his family. I will drag his ass out of London and do what I should have done a long time ago.
Chapter twelve
HARDIN
Damn, Scott! Look at you—you’re a fucking mammoth!” James stands up from the couch and moves toward me. It’s true. Compared to both him and Mark, I’m fucking huge. “What are you, six foot fucking ten?” James’s eyes are glassy and bloodshot. It’s barely one in the afternoon.
“Six-three,” I correct, and receive the same friendly greeting Mark gave, a firm hand on my shoulder.
“This is fucking awesome! We need to get the word out that you’re back. Everyone’s still here, man.” James rubs his hands together like he’s plotting something big, and I don’t even want to know what that might be.
Has Tessa found the bag outside of the door yet? What did she think about it? Did she cry? Or is she beyond that now?
I sure as hell don’t want the answer to that question. I don’t want to picture her face when she opened the door. I don’t even want to think about the way she felt when she saw only one ticket stuffed into the front pocket of that suitcase. All my clothes have been removed from it and tossed into the backseat of my rental.
I know her well enough to know that she’s going to expect a goodbye from me. She’s going to try to find me before she gives up. But after her one last effort, she will give up. She won’t have a choice, because she will never be able to find me before the flight, and by tomorrow she’ll be far, far gone from me.
“Dude!” Mark’s voice is loud and his hand is waving in front of my face. “Are you fucking zoning out?”
“My bad,” I say with a shrug. But then it occurs to me: if Tessa gets lost in London looking for me, what will I do? Anything?
Mark puts his arm around me, pulling me into the conversation he and James have broken into as they decide who to invite over. They name loads of familiar names and a few that I haven’t heard and start making phone calls for a midday party, barking out times and liquor orders.
I pull away and go into the kitchen to look for a glass for some water, looking around the apartment for the first time since I walked through the door. It’s a fucking mess. It looks the way the frat house did every Saturday and Sunday morning. Our apartment never looked this way, not when Tessa was around, at least. The counters were never covered in old pizza boxes, and the tables were free of beer bottles and bongs. I’m backsliding, and I fucking know it.
Speaking of bongs, I don’t even have to look over at Mark and James to know what they’re doing now. I hear the bubbling noise of the water in the bong, then the distinct smell of pot starts filling the place.
Masochist that I am, I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn the power back on. The picture I have set as my wallpaper is my new favorite of Tess. For now, at least. My favorite changes every damn week, but this one is fucking perfection. Her blond hair is down, hanging over her shoulders, and the light is shining on her, making her glow. A true smile fills her entire face, and her eyes are screwed shut, her nose crinkled in the most adorable fucking way. She was laughing at me, scolding me, really, for smacking her ass in front of Kimberly, and I’d snapped the picture just as she burst into laughter after I whispered to her the other, much-dirtier things I could do in front of her obnoxious friend.