Page 5

Feeling nothing is easy. Once life has beaten the shit out of you enough times, feeling nothing is more desirable than literally everything else, but I’m standing here with no way to ignore the distance between us.

Suddenly, the rejection I’ve refused to feel for the past six months is real, and it’s staring at me from four feet away when our lips were barely an inch apart a few short breaths ago.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

I dig my hand into my purse and fish out my keys. My lifeline. My getaway car to ride off into the sunset, never looking back at the trail of misery that always manages to catch up to me.

"You're leaving?" Ian asks, and I swear I can almost hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.

He seems so severe. His usual playfulness has vanished, replaced with something less himself and more…dark. His light has dulled, however temporary it may be, because of me.

Because of me.

“As fast as fucking possible,” I reply, squeezing my keys in a fist. The cold metal presses into my palm like a comfort blanket. No matter what happens, I know my car is outside, and I can disappear. I am a runner, after all. A motherfucking track star. But the only track I’ve ever run is the one that puts as much distance between me and everyone else. Ian showed his hand, and like a good girl, I’ll make it my priority to ensure the gap between us stays as wide as possible.

“At least wait until Mitch gets back,” Ian suggests.

I stare at him, unable to stop wondering what could have been. Would it have been just one night? Would it have started something, or, more likely, would it have been the end of everything? I may not be able to read his eyes like Mitch, but I’ve seen those eyes light up at the slightest connection with random strangers, and the dead eyes looking at me are the same punch to the gut they always are.

“I’m sure you’ll make Mitch forget he ever wanted me here. You seem to be really good at that.” I turn away from him before he has a chance to spew out some bullshit reply, and I head straight for the front door. I nearly make it all the way when Paul stops in my path and blocks my exit.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I hope he can recognize the annoyance burnt into every line of my face and leaves me the fuck alone.

“Roxy!” Paul exclaims, stopping way too close for comfort, clutching a bottle of vodka in one hand and a shot glass oddly fisted in the other. “Hey, I’m so sorry about earlier! My friends—they can be fucking assholes,” Paul slurs, barely able to stand. While unsteady on his feet, his eyes are firmly planted on my tits.

“What the fuck do you want, Paul?” I yell over the music, bringing his attention back to my face.

“Have a shot with me!” he says, holding up the glass, still oddly held in his fist, then fills it with vodka. “Consider it a peace offering.”

I take the glass from him without hesitation, thankful for the offer to numb my senses. I lift it to my lips, but it never reaches its destination. Ian appears out of nowhere and stumbles into me, knocking the shot glass out of my hand and onto the floor.

“Oops,” Ian says with an odd monotone edge. His hands hold onto my waist to steady me. “My bad. Everyone is just so clumsy today.”

I narrow my eyes at him, and he lifts his eyebrows to his hairline before turning his attention to Paul. “You know, Paul , it’s funny to hear you apologize for your friends like your hands weren’t the ones all over her ass,” Ian spits with a sinister edge. Something disastrous happens inside of me, and while I don’t hate it, I hate that it’s Ian making me feel it. I want to ignore the flush in my cheeks as his hands linger on my waist, and I don’t feel the urge to push him away.

I’ve fought so many battles on my own that I stopped caring when I lost, which was often. Having someone step in the line of fire for my benefit is still a new and overwhelming feeling.

“Oh! Well, I was just trying to keep her steady, you know,” Paul stutters. “It looked like she was about to fall over.” The lie on his breath is putrid.

“That was very generous of you,” Ian says with a smile, as charismatic as ever, but there’s an undertone of sarcasm that I’m sure goes over Paul’s inebriated head.

“Thanks, man! Take a shot with me,” Paul asks, holding up the bottle of vodka, too shit-faced to notice the venom in Ian’s smile.

Paul may not notice the venom, but my pussy sure as hell does.

“Hell yeah!” Ian replies with mock excitement. I’ve never seen his charisma crack like this to anyone but me. A chasm so deep, it echoes, reverberating off the walls. Beautiful and tragic, and like a car crash, and I can’t fucking look away.

Ian grips my hips and pulls me back to the kitchen, only letting go of me when he’s put enough distance between me and Paul. He reaches over me, into a cabinet, for three shot glasses and sets them on the counter. Paul fills them with a heavy hand until they spill over the edges.

“One for you,” Ian says, handing me a shot, his eyes never leaving Paul’s hands.

I take the glass and quickly throw it back before he can intervene, welcoming the burn as it makes its way down my throat. I slam the empty glass onto the counter and hiss an appreciation as the warmth spreads through my chest. Chasing that feeling, I snatch the shot from Ian’s hand,halfway to his lips, and throw itback as well.

Ian lets out a chuckle, a genuine fucking laugh, and I’d hate it if I didn’t like it so damn much. What the actual fuck has gotten into me.

“Hell yeah!” Paul yells, raising his hand as if to wrap it around my shoulders.

Ian steps in front of me, intercepting the unwanted embrace, and wraps his arms around Paul in a tight hug. Paul looks confused but pats Ian on the shoulder before backing off with fear in his eyes and scurrying off into the crowd, still clutching his full shot glass.

Ian doesn’t turn back to me until Paul is all the way across the other side of the room, his face unreadable, but his eyes darken as he looks at me. My breath catches in my throat at the beauty of seeing the man behind the mask of cheap jokes and constant laughter.

“You need to be more careful about who you accept drinks from,” he says, his voice gritty and low as his gaze locks on mine.

I try to focus on his words, but the alcohol hits my bloodstream too fast, and the room topples around me as the liquor settles in my empty stomach.

I sway on my feet; my hands slam onto the counter to keep my balance.

“Good God, you’re more of a lightweight than Mitch,” Ian says, shaking his head.

“Your mom’s a lightweight,” I snicker, laughing at my own dumb joke.

A smile slowly creeps at the corners of his lips until a full smile spreads across his face. It’s easy to blame the alcohol for the weakness in my legs, but there is no mistaking the effect that smile has on me.

Ian Summers is smiling…at me.

“I didn’t think you knew how to laugh,” he mocks.

“Fuck you. I laugh,” I snap at him, but the alcohol softens my edges. “Maybe you aren’t as funny as you think you are.”

“I’m fucking hilarious.” His smile turns to a smirk as he takes a step closer to me.

My eyes dart around the room, searching for Mitch. Instead, I find Paul, who is already back with his friends—whispering and throwing glances my way.

My gaze lingers in Paul’s direction, but my focus drifts as my thoughts muddle about what they could be saying.

“Hey,” Ian says, placing a hand on my hip and giving my body a little shake. I think it’s supposed to reassure me, but the only thing it does is something I’m not willing to unpack right now. “Fuck them,” he snaps. “Stop wasting your energy on small minds. They're never going to change.”

“Why do you do that?” I bark, some of the anger slipping past the alcohol-induced filter, my eyes finding him again. “Why do you try so hard to be so fucking charming all the time? Don’t you ever want to be a prick? Don’t you ever want to call me a bitch and tell me to fuck off?”

Ian’s eyes flicker with curiosity and mischief as he shakes his head. “Don’t you ever get sick of being a cynical little shit all the time? Wouldn’t you rather embrace joy for what it is instead of ripping holes in everything good that comes your way?”

Ian isn’t the first person, by far, to insinuate that I’m the reason for all the bad shit I step in. I scream it at myself every night as I try to fall asleep, but thanks to years of therapy, I know that doesn’t mean it’s true. Just because I have to scrape the shit off the bottom of my shoes every goddamn day doesn’t mean I stepped in it on purpose.

“Well, fuck me for not walking around like a pretty boy pretending the sun shines out of my ass every second of the day,” I spit.

“You think I’m pretty,” he says, and I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.

“Pretty insufferable,” I retort.

Ian’s smile widens, and I’m hyper-aware of his thumb lightly tracing the curve of my hip bone, making my stomach flutter to a nauseating degree. His eyes scan my face with an odd curiosity that borders on pity, and I can feel something shift in the weight of his stare. My chest explodes with anxiety as he scans me through narrowed eyes.

“Only you can be personally offended by people’s happiness…or is it just my happiness that pisses you off?”

Ian’s question hits a little too close to home, and a wave of shame washes over me, but I refuse to let him see it. “Just yours,” I lie. Getting a small rush out of being a bitch for the hell of it.

His grip on my waist tightens, and I can feel the tremble in his hand as he battles with himself.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince both of us. He drops his gaze to the worn wood of the countertop, and I watch his face flash through a million emotions, waiting for him to look back up at me, but he doesn’t. “I won’t apologize for choosing to be happy.”

The sincerity in his voice isn’t lost on me, but I can’t help the overwhelming desire to expose my guts and show him what real pain looks like. I don’t want to feel this way, but here I am, yet again, letting my past dictate my present.

“You don’t think I’d choose happiness over this ?” I ask as if the answer isn’t completely fucking obvious. Who chooses to be this miserable all the time? “I’m not offended by happiness, Ian. I’m envious as fuck of all the people who seem to feel it so easily!” I snap, letting my eyes fall to his lips before dropping to my feet, trying to find something to say that doesn’t sound like I have a mouthful of broken glass. “My happiness is buried so deep inside me that I don’t have the energy to dig for it most days. Hell, I barely have the energy to exist, but I fucking try! I let my guard down for Mitch. It took everything I had, and I still wound up choosing someone who was never going to choose me.”

Saying it out loud makes me feel so incredibly weak, and a gnarly weight sinks into my gut. I can’t believe I allowed myself to be so fucking stupid…again.

I can feel Ian’s eyes on me now, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing the defeat he’s caused. Whether it was intentional or not, it lives within me now.

The weight of my past threatens to crush me, but Ian seems to pick up on the fragility of my frame and the depths of my wounds.

“If it helps, I had no idea you were in love with him,” he says, his voice soft and sincere. “If I had known, I never would have made a move on him. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, Roxy, but…you can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming. Maybe not necessarily Mitch and me , but Mitch and someone. He’s a fuck buddy. There was bound to be someone else, eventually.”

A storm of anger and shame swirls within me as I slowly bring my eyes back to him, and a bead of sweat drips down my spine as I gather the last remnants of strength to unleash the truth.

“Mitch can fuck whoever he wants,” I bark, trying to pull away from his grip, “Just not you.”

The hand on my hip falls to his side in defeat, but the spark in his eyes returns with a vengeance.

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” he snaps, catching me off guard.

“You don’t have to do anything, Ian. That’s the fucking problem!” I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself as I struggle to find the right words to portray my feelings without self-combusting. “You know what, I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“No? Well, you should have it with someone. Preferably a therapist,” he spits back.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, turning to leave, but he grabs my waist, pulling me back.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he begins, his tone deadly serious, his eyes scanning the contours of my face. I shrug, trying to make it look like I don't care, but the tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks at any moment sell me out.

“You didn’t mean to tell him you love him, and you definitely didn’t expect him to say it back. But I love him too, and he loves me, which understandably complicates things for you. But instead of being a big girl and dealing with your emotions like a fucking adult, what do you do when things get tough, Rox? Huh? You vanish.”

All traces of emotion are gone from his expression. A serious undertone overcomes his features, and it’s so jarring for him to be standing so close to me that I can see it blossom across his face. My body betrays me like a desperate whore for his attention despite everything my brain is yelling over the noise.

He’s right, but I don’t want him to know that.

I open my mouth to reply, but he’s not finished.

“Who fucked you up? Who turned you so against yourself that you don’t think you're worthy of fighting for what you want?” His voice is low and intense.

I want to tell him to fuck off, tell him that it’s none of his business, but I just stare at him, my eyes welling up with more pathetic tears. I hate that he’s right. I hate that he can see through me so easily, that he can see past the mask to the pain and fear hiding just out of sight.

I hate that he’s right about Mitch, too. I am scared. I’m scared of what it means to love someone who loves me back. Afraid that I’m not worthy of his love or that he doesn’t love me as much I love him…or as much as he loves Ian.

I’ve never been in such a state of vulnerability that my soul feels ripped to shreds, bare and raw. Bits of me that I’ve had locked up for so long are now exposed to the elements. Parts of the walls I’ve spent years carefully constructing are paper thin to Ian’s gaze.

“What are you doing?” I spit out bitterly, my insides twisting in knots. “Don’t pretend you actually care about me when all you really care about is yourself. You’re just another pretty boy with a big ego, and you’re not fooling me. That forced optimism mask you wear every day isn’t for anyone else's benefit but your own. The fact that you can look down on me like you are any different is a fucking joke.”

Ian’s eyes darken, the light that usually resides in them snuffed out like a candle and a sick sense of pride warms my cold-blooded heart. To take someone so pure and turn them inside out, exposing all the parts they hide from the world is so exhilarating. I plan to bask in this feeling for as long as possible, but his eyes take on an edge I’ve never seen before as he steps closer, forcing me backward and pressing my lower back into the kitchen counter.

“I am nothing like you,” he says, practically spitting words through gritted teeth. His eyes bore into me like daggers as I struggle to keep my eyes on his. “You walk around trying to mask your pain with a tough exterior, but you’re nothing but a scared little girl trapped in the body of a spiteful bitch.”

The heat of his harsh words brushes against my face, and every logical thought in my mind disappears. I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat remains.

“You think you know me so well,” I say. I want to sound brave and defiant, but my heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s trying to escape my chest. The last thing I want is for him to see how much his words affect me.

“I know you better than you think,” he whispers in my ear, his voice a husky growl. “You like it rough, rougher than most. You like to be used, bent over, and fucked within an inch of your sanity, then discarded because God forbid you feel any real emotion.”

His words sting, leaving a trail of fire and ash in their wake. I pull my head back away from him, and our eyes meet through the blur of tears that escape freely now. “What happened? Daddy didn’t love you enough?”

I huff out a breath before finding my voice, “You know, I think I finally found some respect for you,” I say, my chest burning with embarrassment. “Turns out Ian Summers can be a fucking prick after all.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as I'm forced to see this side of him. A side I'm sure very few people have ever seen. I should feel honored, not devastated for being the reason for it.

His expression loses its edge, and his trademark softness creeps back in. But I don’t let it sway me. I push him away before I lose my nerve and make my way through the crowd toward the front door again.

I hear Ian calling out to me as I reach the door, but I don’t stop—and I don’t look back. This newfound respect for him has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, and I need to go before I say—or do—something I’ll regret.