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“Yes, a little.”
I’m waiting to make the decision until I talk to Kimberly and Christian in person. I heard from her this morning, and she said they will be leaving England on Thursday. I’m still trying to figure out how it’s only Tuesday. It feels much longer than two days since I left London.
My mind goes to him and what he’s doing . . . or who he’s with. Is he touching that girl right now? Is she wearing his shirt again? Why am I torturing myself with thoughts of him? I’ve been avoiding him, and now I can see his bloodshot green eyes, I can feel the tips of his fingers brushing across my cheek.
I was both hurt and pathetically relieved when I found a dirty black T-shirt while rummaging through my suitcase at Chicago O’Hare. I started off looking for my phone charger and ended up finding his last blow. I couldn’t bring myself, no matter how many times I tried, to walk over and throw it into the nearest trash can. I couldn’t. Instead, I shoved it back into the suitcase and buried it under my clothes.
So much for a clean break, but I’m giving myself a break, given how hard all this feels. How my entire world has been ripped apart, and I’m left alone to sort out the pieces . . .
No. As I resolved on the plane, I won’t indulge in such thinking. These thoughts are getting me nowhere. Feeling sorry for myself only makes it worse.
“I’m leaning towards New York, but I need a little more time to decide,” I tell Landon.
“Good.” His smile is contagious. “We would leave in about three weeks at the end of the semester.”
“I hope so.” I sigh, desperately wanting time to pass. A minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, any time that passes can only be a good thing for me at this point.
And so it does, time passes, and somehow I find myself moving along with it. The problem is, I haven’t decided if that’s a good thing or not.
Chapter seventeen
HARDIN
Opening the front door of the apartment, I’m surprised when I find all the lights on. Tessa usually doesn’t keep them all running at once; she’s a stickler for keeping our electricity bill low.
“Tess, I’m home. Are you in the room?” I call out. I can smell dinner in the oven, and soft music is playing on our little stereo.
I toss my binder and keys onto the table and go in search of her. I quickly notice that the bedroom door’s slightly open, and then I hear voices snaking out through the opening, as if riding the music out into the hallway. The moment I hear his voice, I shove the door open with anger.
“What the fuck!” I scream, the sound booming through the small bedroom.
“Hardin? What are you doing here?” Tessa asks as if I’m intruding. She pulls the comforter up to cover her bare body, a faint smile resting on her lips.
“What am I doing here? What is he doing here?” I point an accusatory finger at Zed, who scrambles off the bed and begins pulling his boxers on.
Tessa continues to glare at me like I’m the one fucking some shithead in our bed. “You can’t keep coming here, Hardin.” The tone of her voice is so dismissive, so mocking. “This is the third time this month.” She sighs, lowering her voice. “Have you been drinking again?” The question is laced with sympathy and annoyance.
Zed crosses in front of the bed and protectively stands in front of her, his arm hovering over her . . . her swollen belly.
No . . .
“Are you?” I choke out. “You’re . . . you and him?”
She sighs again, tightening the blanket around her. “Hardin, we have been over this so many times. You don’t live here. You haven’t lived here for, I forget, something like over two years now.” She’s so matter-of-fact about it all, and the way her eyes search Zed’s face for help with my intrusion isn’t lost on me.
Confused, the air taken out of me, I crumple to my knees in front of the two of them. And then quickly feel a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, but you have to go. You’re upsetting her.” Zed’s voice gently mocks me.
“You can’t do this to me,” I beg her, reaching my hand toward her pregnant belly. It can’t be real. It can’t be real.
“You did this to yourself,” she says. “I’m sorry, Hardin, but you did this.”
Zed rubs her arms to calm her, and rage rips through me. I dig into my pocket and pull out my lighter. Neither of them notice; they just cling to each other as my thumb flicks over the lighter. The small flame is familiar, an old friend now, as I bring the flame to the curtain. My eyes close as Tessa’s face is illuminated by the angry flames consuming the room.
“HARDIN!” MARK’S FACE is the first thing I see when my eyes fly open. I push his face away and fling myself from the couch and fall onto the floor in a panic.
Tessa was . . . and I was . . .
“You were having one hell of a dream, man.” Mark shakes his head at me. “Are you okay? You’re soaked.”
I blink a few times and run my hands through my sweat-drenched hair. My hand is killing me. I figured the bruising would lighten up by now, but it hasn’t.
“Are you okay?”
“I . . .” I have to get out of here. I have to go somewhere or do something. The image of the room in flames is burned into my memory.
“Take this and go back to sleep; it’s four in the morning.” He pulls the top off a plastic bottle and drops a single pill into my sweaty palm.
I nod, unable to speak. I dry-swallow the pill and lie back on the couch. Eyeing me one last time, Mark disappears back into his bedroom, and I pull my phone from my pocket and look at Tessa’s picture.