Page 20 of Scars of Anatomy

Girl Troubles

The next day, guilt is still settled deep in the pit of my stomach, eating away at me like acid after my little gym mishap. Ashamed and mortified, I refuse to leave my room in fear of running into Olivia.

I purposefully skip our anatomy lecture to avoid her and those in the class who witnessed my outburst in our lab section. I couldn’t care less that anyone else witnessed it, but her . . .

I could tell that I startled her with my behavior. Why wouldn’t she be startled when I completely blew up out of nowhere? Then the hurt on her face when I jerked my arm away from her and stormed out like a child kills me inside, thinking back on it now. And the whole gym mishap . . .

God I’m such an idiot.

I know my actions were just hormones and pent-up sexual frustration, but I never should have let it go that far.

I was angry and needed a release that the gym couldn’t give me, and Kenzie was the first thing that stumbled into my path that I thought would help.

It was stupid and impulsive, and three months ago I would have followed through, but then Olivia kept popping into my head and I just couldn’t.

Letting out a groan, I roll over on my uncomfortable dorm mattress and stare up at the popcorn ceiling, thinking.

What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not out of the ordinary for me to skip class, but to skip class in order to avoid a girl because I’m embarrassed is out of character.

Normally I wouldn’t bat an eye or give a fuck if I hurt someone’s feelings, and I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to avoid a girl—especially one I like.

What the hell are you doing to me, Finch?

I force myself to take another gulp of the cheap, lukewarm beer in my cup, hoping the alcohol will help take off some of the edge—since working out, an almost hookup, a cold shower, and my hand clearly didn’t do it for me. But all it seems to do is sit uncomfortably in my stomach.

God I’m pathetic.

Still, I nurse my beer, my eyes scanning the crowd before me as I sink deeper into the old, worn couch.

I thought it would do me some good to get out and try to clear my head, so I tagged along with Chase and most of the team to another frat party.

I feel like I’ve cut back on my partying a lot lately, and it was time to go out and have some mind-numbing fun with the boys.

Although I seem to be having anything but fun.

“Why so glum, chum?” Brennen asks, plopping down next to me.

I jump slightly, some of the beer sloshing out of my cup and onto my shirt as I was midsip. “It’s nothing,” I grumble bitterly, aggressively swiping at the liquid on my shirt.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Brennen taunts.

“Fuck off.”

Brennen’s thick brows shoot up to his hairline. “All right, someone’s testy.”

Silence, aside from the party raging around us, falls.

“Is everything all right between you and Liv?” he asks quietly, genuine concern in his voice.

I snap my head in his direction. Man, he really knows how to hit a guy where it hurts, huh?

“Why do you ask?” I retort a little too harshly.

His lips purse into a thin line, hazel eyes sympathetic. “I heard about your little blowup in lab the other day.”

Great. My blowup has become news and is spreading around campus. Fucking fantastic.

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose in annoyance.

“Look, man, I know you like her—”

“How do you know I like her?” I cut in quickly, probably too quickly.

He gives me a knowing smile, and I avoid his gaze, pretending to be interested in a hangnail on my thumb. “It’s pretty obvious. You making her wear your jersey to the homecoming game, spending a lot of time with her, the way you look at her—”

I sigh in response. No point in denying it.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I fucked up.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t un–fuck it up,” he counters.

I shrug pathetically, sulking.

Brennen places a strong, comforting hand on my shoulder. “You had one minor blowup. Nothing an apology and explanation can’t fix.”

“Yo, Brennen!” a deep voice booms from the dining room, where the beer pong tables are lined up. Brennen and I look up to see Bodie from the basketball team eagerly waving him over.

“Wanna play?” Brennen asks me, hopeful.

“Nah, man. I’m going to pass.”

He gives me a look of understanding and squeezes my shoulder again before getting up and striding over to the tables.

I sink farther into the couch, forcing myself to sip the beer in my cup as I watch. Once my cup is empty, I struggle to get up and walk over to the kitchen for another beer, starting to feel light on my feet from the four I’ve already had.

As I’m about to slip through the entryway of the kitchen, a slender tan arm shoots across it, a well-manicured hand with black nail polish landing on the door frame to block my path. My gaze travels up the arm and over a bare shoulder to meet a pair of familiar wicked green eyes.

“Hi, Bronx,” Adrianna says with a vicious smile.

I sigh. “I’m not in the mood, Ads.”

Her hand stays planted on the door frame, preventing me from entering the kitchen. “Your little blowup in lab the other day was pretty Oscar worthy,” she comments. “Left those nerds at your table stunned.”

My jaw ticks. “Move,” I demand, my voice hard. I debate ducking under her arm to slip by, but I don’t think our height differences—or the alcohol in my system—will allow me to limbo under her arm gracefully.

Adrianna stays put, a grin spreading across her face. “And you thought you had her fooled.”

My blood boils, and before I can have another public blowup—something Adrianna would love —I turn on my heel and shove my way through the crowd to get the hell away from her.

I head straight for the backyard, needing some fresh air.

I’m not going to stand around and play cat and mouse with her all night.

I came to this party to try to relax and forget about everything.

Shoving past numerous sweaty bodies, I finally reach the back door and head outside. The night air is chilly, probably colder than I actually think it is, but the alcohol and the anger coursing through my veins seems to keep me comfortable temperaturewise.

I scan the backyard, finding a handful of people occupying the space.

Most of them are smoking, actually having the decency to step outside instead of doing it in the house.

A few are standing around drinking, talking and laughing obnoxiously.

Then there’s one couple practically getting it on near the bushes lined along the back fence.

With the temperature dropping, I opt to sit near the fire pit crackling in the center of the yard. Daringly, I take a seat on one of the old, dry rotted lawn chairs, praying it holds my weight. It makes a god-awful noise but manages to stay in one piece.

I recline, the chair making another sound that makes me cringe, and watch the flames dance around in the light breeze that’s causing goose bumps to form on my bare arms. I debate trying to find Chase so I can get the keys to the truck to grab my hoodie, but my stomach drops in realization that my hoodie is no longer in his truck. I gave it to Olivia at homecoming.

Has she worn it since that night? I wonder childishly. Or has she tossed it in a fire and watched it burn with satisfaction after I acted like a complete ass?

Because I would.

God I could really use another drink.

Before my mind wanders too far down the Olivia rabbit hole, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out to see a new text message from Adrianna. Stupidly, I open it.

Adrianna: Come find me when you’re done with your hissy fit. The attitude doesn’t suit you

Now I could really use a drink.

Riled up and fuming, I sit up, leaning forward to place my elbows on my thighs as my thumbs tap away at my phone screen.

Instead of replying, I go straight to my contacts, Adrianna’s name the third on my list—right after Abbi and Abby.

I click on her name, and without thinking twice hit Delete Contact, watching her name disappear from the list, a weird sense of satisfaction and relief running through me.

On some weird high, full of spite and anger, I go down the list, deleting every girl’s name from my phone—including Abbi and Abby.

When I get to the Fs my heart drops. My thumb hovers over the name Finch for a long time, a weird feeling settling deep inside my chest. I swallow thickly before eventually scrolling past her name.

Hers is the only female contact I have in my phone by the time I’m done.

I hear the chair next to me groan in protest under someone’s weight.

Turning my head, I catch Ciara reclining, a cloud of smoke swirling around her as she exhales, a joint lazily dangling from her fingers.

“You look like you could use this,” she says, extending the joint to me, her voice only half teasing.

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

Ciara shrugs, taking another hit. “What’s got you down?”

“Nothing.”

“Girl troubles?” she jokes, knowing I don’t date.

I stay silent, avoiding her gaze.

“Wait,” she says in disbelief. “Holy shit, is it a girl?”

I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“Who is she?” Ciara presses.

“You don’t know her.”

“So?”

“She’s just some girl from my class.”

“And?”

“And I fucked up, okay?” I spit bitterly.

Ciara studies me, her lips pressed into a firm line. “Damn. I always knew you’d settle down eventually, I just thought it would be long after college.” She chuckles softly, throwing me a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, I get it, Bronx is pussy-whipped,” I mock self-deprecatingly, thinking she’s teasing me.

Ciara frowns. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m actually really happy you found someone you genuinely like. I wish I could do that,” she says, sinking back into the chair, making it groan.

I look at her quizzically. “But you’ve had boyfriends and girlfriends.”

A hint of a sad smile crosses her face. “Yeah, but they’ve never been anything serious.

That’s the difference between you and me.

I’m willing to ‘date,’ put a meaningless label on relationships I know won’t go anywhere, but at least you’re honest and let them know you’re only in it to fuck instead of desperately searching for something that isn’t there and stringing them along, like me.

“I know I won’t settle down anytime soon, not until I find ‘the one’ or whatever clichéd bullshit fairy tales make you believe.

But, hey. If you really like this girl, go for it.

No girl has ever left you like this.” She gestures at me up and down.

“So she must be worth something. Maybe she’s your one. ”

I swallow thickly, trying not to think about her words too hard.

She sits forward in her seat, taking a long drag from the joint and exhaling a large cloud of smoke. “My advice,” she says, standing and looking down at me. “If you really do like this girl, don’t let her go.”

Ciara flicks her joint to the ground, stubbing it out with the heel of her shoe before walking away, back inside the house.

Her words swirl around in my head until I’m restless enough to stand up, and I find myself crossing the lawn and leaving through the back gate.

I walk down the street, past all the cars lined down the block for the party, until I hit the main road.

Campus is about three miles from here, so I can manage the walk back and hopefully use the time to clear my head.

However, the farther I walk the more my thoughts land on Olivia, making my chest heavier and heavier.

As if the universe can detect my shitty mood, it begins to rain.

What kind of Steven Spielberg shit is this?

I cross my arms over my chest, the rain coming down heavier and hitting my skin like ice. My feet pick up the pace as I jog across a crosswalk, planning to duck into the next available store to seek shelter, but most of them are closed.

I groan in frustration, and out of the corner of my eye I see some activity on the other side of the street. Hopeful, I whip my head in the direction, ready to bolt across to the only store with some lights on, but I stop dead in my tracks.

Across the street is McCausland’s Sporting Goods, and my heart nearly tumbles out of my chest when I spot Olivia through the large glass windows. She’s inside, stocking shelves. I know she occasionally helps her dad out at the store, but I definitely wasn’t expecting to see her tonight.

Feet rooted to the ground, I stare at her like a total creep, unable to look away. As far as I can tell, Olivia is the only one inside, and in the dim lighting I can make out the sad look on her face. My stomach tightens at the thought that I’m the reason for it.

Her movements are slow, sluggish, as if she’s lost in her own thoughts.

I continue to watch as she finishes stocking the shelf, then breaks down the empty cardboard box and disappears into the back.

She reemerges with a large box in her arms, seemingly struggling with the weight of it as she stops halfway to her destination, balancing on one leg so that her other thigh can push up the box slipping from her arms. It takes everything inside of me not to run over to help her.

Once she reaches a nearly empty clothing rack she drops the box with a huff, resting her hands on her hips for a moment. When she catches her breath, she bends down to open the box and pulls out a maroon-colored T-shirt, my name and number printed on the back.

The beer in my stomach churns uncomfortably as I watch her slowly turn the shirt around to stare at my last name, an emotion crossing her face that I can’t quite gauge.

She stares at it for several moments before grabbing a hanger and placing it on the rack.

One by one she takes out each jersey, places them on hangers, and hooks them on the rack, that sad look on her face seemingly intensified.

As if to punish me, a strong burst of wind barrels down the street, a sheet of rain coming along with it, pelting me like a hundred tiny needles. I break out of my trance and hightail it to campus, forcing my clenched, frozen limbs to push forward.