Zack turns around when some girl walks up to him. He starts chatting to her about a stereo and I can tell by his flirty tone that he’s attracted to her. I can’t see through all the fog in my head to tell if she’s hot or not though. All I can see is hazel eyes that subtly notice me and for the briefest second, I think maybe I do exist. That even though most girls don’t notice me, this one does. But her fleeting gaze is the only detail I can pick out about her and then I’m swimming in nothingness again.
I become nothing again.
Finally, my mind gets so cloudy, I go lie down. The room quiets, along with my thoughts. The routine continues. A pattern is formed. Take a hit. Zone off. Check phone. Nothing. Take a hit. Zone off. Check phone. Nothing. Over and over again. In the end, my parents never call and when morning rolls around, I’m so out of it I feel like shit, barely able to move. I try to tell myself that if someone would have just called—showed me they cared—then I would have stopped. But I know that’s a lie. Deep down, I know that the moment I chose to take the first hit, not only did my life standstill, it crumbled, taking whoever I was with it. That my life was never going to be the same again.
Six years later…
(Present day)
Chapter 3
I feel so old.
Avery
Life is confusing.
Life is hard.
Life is… life.
But life is also living life and even though I struggle every day, I try to stay positive that I’m breathing and my heart is beating.
Stay positive that I’m still alive and able to breathe.
Tonight is a little more difficult than others to maintain this mindset. I have beer on my shirt, a welt on my cheek from some guy clocking me in the face with his elbow, my jeans are torn and my entire body is achy. Usually, I’m more tolerant during Sunday night outings, but tonight, the music is too noisy, the crowd too rambunctious, and I’m exhausted from the all-nighter I pulled the night before to study.
At twenty-two years old, I feel more like thirty-five. Whether to act my actual age or act the age I should be based on the responsibilities I have of being a single mother is always a constant battle within me. This is something my friend Charissa doesn’t understand.
“Avery, where the hell’s your enthusiasm tonight?!” Charissa calls out from over the cheering crowd while bouncing up and down with an amount of energy I envy. We’re at The Golden Element House, at a concert. Only one band has played and we still have three more to listen to, but I’m yawning already. “You’re usually more energetic than this when we go out.”
That’s because I’m not fun Avery tonight.
I’m worried Avery.
I’m mother Avery.
I just had to leave my invisible supermom cape at home.
Which I feel guilty about.
Always do.
“Sorry! I’m just super tired tonight!” I check the time on my watch and sigh because it’s exactly one minute later than the last time I looked. “And I look like shit,” I say. “I really should just go home. Mason’s sick and my head isn't into this anyway.”
She aims a manicured finger at me. “No way, Missy. You aren’t bailing out on me tonight.” She smiles brightly. “And you look great.”
Easy for her to say. With her body-hugging black dress, curly blond hair that probably took two hours to style, and flawless makeup, she looks like she just walked off the runway. Me, I’m in jeans and the same black tank top I’ve been wearing for three days straight because I can’t find time to do laundry. I can’t wait until summer semester is over, then I only have two more to make it through before I get that little piece of paper that will hopefully give me the future I’ve been planning on having since I was sixteen, even if I got off the path for a while.
I’m back on it now though.
“Sorry, but I warned you I wasn’t going to be much fun.” I inch in my elbows as a guy squeezes by me. He ends up spilling beer on my boots and then offers to buy me a drink as an ‘I’m sorry.’
“Yeah, I don’t drink,” I tell him, hoping he’ll take the clue that I’m not interested—that I’m not interested in any guy here.
He doesn’t pick up on my offish vibe though, instead grinning. “Well, how about a glass of water, then?” He stares at my br**sts when he says it.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Sorry, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
He glances from Charissa to me than his grin expands. “Oh, are you two…”
This isn’t the first time someone’s thought I was a lesbian, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. “Yeah, we are.”
Charissa chokes on her drink, spitting some onto the floor. “No we’re not,” she sputters, sending the guy an apologetic look before narrowing her eyes at me. “Why do you do that?”
I shrug as the guy stalks off, muttering something under his breath. “It keeps them away.”
She sighs. “All guys aren’t bad, and if you don’t stop thinking that way, you’re going to end up alone.”
There’s no point in responding. Charissa hardly knows anything about my past nor do I feel close enough to her to explain why I will end up alone, at least when it comes to having any kind of a relationship with the opposite sex. If she did know everything about my past, the truth about Conner, how my father abandoned me, she wouldn’t be trying to convince me that all guys aren’t bad—she’d be trying to convince herself. Besides, I decided that day, when by some miracle I got another chance at life, that I was going to do better this time. That I had to. Not just for Mason and myself, but because I felt there was a reason why I came back. Saw something waiting for me in the darkness of the stars.
“You know what you need to do?” Charissa leans in and lowers her voice as she peeks over at a group of guys near us. “You need to get laid and I’m betting one of them could help with that.”
“No, I don’t.” Yeah, my vagina hasn’t been used in so long it’s probably dusty, but sex isn’t a priority—can’t be.
I know arguing with Charissa is useless, though. She is twenty-three, works part time at the same bar as me called The Vibe, and it’s her only job other than going to school. That’s about it for her responsibilities and I’m happy for her. Envy her even. But it makes explaining my life problems to her complicated.
“Oh, come on, Avery, you can’t shut every guy out,” she says. “For all you know, one of them could be the one.”
“No, they can’t.”
She shakes her head disappointedly. “Look, just relax, okay? If you’re still not feeling it by midnight, you can leave and I won’t utter a word.” She glances over at the tallest of the frat guys. His hair is combed, his face freshly shaven, his jeans and button shirt obviously clean. He’s clearly checking me out, yet I feel zero attraction to him.
“I have a feeling you’re going to want to stay all night,” Charissa muses with assurance.
“Doubtful.” But I decide to tolerate Charissa and attempt to be cheery Avery tonight, despite my exhaustion and worry. “I’ll stay for one hour.” I check the time. Only fifty-eight more minutes to go.
About two minutes later, Charissa’s friend Alyssia joins us and I feel like even more of a slob standing by the two of them. But I attempt to be as fun as I can and try not to check my phone every two minutes because I’m worried about Mason and the fever he had when I left tonight. I jump up and down while the band plays and do this awesome vanishing into the crowd act when Frat Boy gets the balls to head in my direction. I decline all drinks aimed my way because it’s a necessity these days. I’m a recovering alcoholic for over two years and plan on making that number increase forever.
I put on a great show for Charissa, convincing her I’m having a blast, which in a way I do. But only half my mind is at the concert, the other half back at home with the bills and finals and my son. At midnight on the dot, I turn away from the fantasy world I know can never fully be mine and head back to reality.
“Wait, you’re seriously leaving?!” Charissa hollers at me, fanning her hand in front of her face, her cheeks flushed with sweat.
I offer her an apologetic look then shrug as I mouth, Sorry, but I have to go.
She folds her arms, pissed off as she reels back around toward the stage. She’ll get over it, though, by the time we both are at work on Monday.
I shove my way through the crowd and out the front door, heading for my car at the rear of the parking lot. As the humid summer air soaks my skin, I inhale the freshness while I light up a cigarette. A bad habit of mine, but I do it when I’m really stressed, which is every day.
“Nice night, right?” A gangly, thin-faced guy asks as I pass by him. He’s leaning against the trunk of a car with his arms crossed, his gaze drinking me in like an alcoholic does with a bottle. Moments later I recognize him as one of Conner’s buddies.
“Actually, it’s pretty shitty,” I say without missing a step as I fumble for my keys.
“Hey, wait,” he calls out, striding after me.
My fingers drift to my pocket, just to make sure I have my mace on me.
“I know you, don’t I?” he says. “You’re Conner’s chick.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I jog to my car and unlock the door, trying to disregard the nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m no one’s chick. Never was.” That’s a lie, more directed to myself than the guy. Because it’s hard to accept what I was—what I became.
He sneers as he slows to a halt just behind me. “Clever, but you get what I mean. You and Conner Wellings, you’re married, right?”
I jerk open the door then scowl over my shoulder at him. “Isn’t it pretty obvious I don’t want to talk to you?”
“Hey, I was just being friendly,” he snaps, the friendliness in his tone vanishing. “You don’t need to be so bitchy about it, Avery.”
The fact that he knows my name bothers me. The last thing I need is for word to get back to Conner that I was hanging around at The Golden Element House because he’ll start assuming things just like he used to do all the damn time while we were married. He just got out of jail for the second time and sooner or later he’s going to show up—always does. I just hope it’s later rather than sooner this time.
“Yes, I do.” And I don’t even feel bad about being bitchy, not just because he knows Conner, but because chatting to him breaks my number one rule in life:
No guys.
Ever.
And I never break that exception.
Ever.
Ever.
Ever.
Okay, that’s a lie. I broke the exception once in the past two years since I made the rule. It happened three months ago when my house was being finished up and I met a guy who was helping build it. His name was Tristan.
I didn’t get to know him well enough to catch his last name. Just like I didn’t do anything except give him a quick kiss on the lips after he kind of saved me from a very heated argument with Conner. It took a lot of balls on Tristan’s part, especially since Conner ended up grazing Tristan’s side with a knife. I haven’t seen Tristan since then, our paths never crossing again, but it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten him. It’s not often I meet a guy who makes me question if not all guys are bad. Plus it seemed like Tristan was supposed to be one of those people who was meant to come into my life, even if it was for a fleeting moment.
At least that’s the reason I keep giving myself.
I don’t like to admit it but there was a little more to it than that. That all chivalry aside, I’d also felt a momentary pull with Tristan. Not the same thrilling and terrifying pull that I used to feel with Conner, but in a different way. A way I’m not even sure I can describe other than it was as if that night we came together just so he could help me and in return I could help him. I can’t help wondering if he’s doing okay now. If he’s gotten clean.
I think about it a lot actually.
Every day.
Even though I try not to.
But I see him.
In my dreams sometimes.
And think about him.
During the day.
Wonder all the time what he’s doing.
And if he’s okay.
“You know, if I were you, I’d be really careful what you say to me,” the guy says in a deep tone, shifting closer and startling me from my thoughts. “Because I could go back and tell Conner I saw you here tonight.” His breath reeks like whiskey and his pungent body odor burns my nostrils. “He’d be really upset to know you’ve been out partying. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s been wanting to know what you’re been up to, considering he was in jail because of you. I know he’s been dying to find out what your life is like.”
I ball my hands into fists, battling the need to spit out a comeback. Without saying another word, I climb into my rustic red Jeep and drive off. I make my journey home trying not to think about the bills, about my job, school, my five-year-old son, Conner and the threat the guy made in the parking lot, but my problems are all I can think about.
How the hell did I get here?
I know the answer. See it every night when I look up at the stars.
It’s painful to retrace every step that led me to this place, steps that I took myself. But I don’t hate my life, just wish things could be easier. It could have been so much easier if I did everything the right way instead of backwards.
By the time I pull into my driveway, I’m bawling, nearing hysteria, worried that at any moment, Conner’s going to show up, a concern that’s haunted me for years. I don’t go inside right away. I give myself five minutes to cry my eyes out, alone, in the silence of my vehicle where no one can see me or my problems. Then, when my eyes have dried, I drag my ass out of the car, knowing as soon as I step foot into my house I’m no longer the priority anymore.