The Way We Fall Page 7
“Sorry. Actually, what I wanted to ask is… how are you doing?”
I’m silent for a moment as I contemplate his question. It’s not an inappropriate thing to ask. It’s actually a very intimate question, which I’m not obligated to answer. But he does seem genuinely concerned. And somehow, I find myself wanting to tell him the truth, that sometimes I still lie awake replaying the last few days I spent with Hallie over and over in my mind.
“Like you said, it’s just one of those things,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t hear the painful thickness in my voice. “You learn to live with it.”
Liam makes small talk the rest of the eight-minute ride to my apartment. Once we’re in front of my building, he scoops the bike out of the truck bed and sets it down gently in front of me.
“Thanks for the ride.” I begin to peel off his jacket and he holds up his hand to stop me.
“Keep it. I’ll get it back next weekend, when you let me take you out.”
I sigh audibly because I hate having to reject guys. “Liam, I’m not the kind of girl that can be saved. I’m beyond damaged… I’m destroyed.”
“Damaged goods, huh?” he replies with a smile. “Does that mean I get a discount? Can I take you to McDonald’s instead of Ración?”
I try not to smile. “I’m serious. I… I pretty much swore off relationships five years ago. I’m a lost cause.”
He laughs at this. “Rory, you’re twenty-four years old. We’re all lost at this age.” He reaches forward and my skin prickles as he brushes a lock of hair away from my temple and tucks it behind my ear. “Let me take you out and I’ll decide whether you’re defective.”
As I gaze into his crystal-blue eyes, my mind drifts to thoughts of Houston. Earlier today, I refused to let him give me a ride home. But I allowed Liam to give me a ride. Does that mean I feel safer with Liam? And by safe, do I mean children’s book safe?
I guess it doesn’t matter what I mean. It just matters that he’s the kind of guy my mom would want me to date. Maybe this will get her off my back.
“Okay.”
His eyes light up. “Awesome. I’ll pick you up here at eight next Saturday. Is that good?”
“Maybe… Maybe you should just come over and hang out. I haven’t been on a date in a long time. I think I need to ease my way back into this.”
He chuckles. “Well, you’re definitely out of practice. Because, while I have no problem hanging out with you in your apartment, that’s usually what happens after the date.”
I shake my head in dismay at my own ignorance, but I don’t offer to change the plans. I still think I’d feel more comfortable with him in my domain than surrounded by a bunch of strangers.
We quickly exchange phone numbers before I head inside. As I enter the elevator, a thought occurs to me that I hadn’t considered before. If I’m dating other guys, that will make it much easier to resist Houston once we start working together.
Five years ago, April 5th
* * *
Rory was born with an affliction I like to call spontaneous hugging syndrome. Whenever someone does something really nice for her, she can't help but throw her arms around them in a wild embrace. This affliction is one of my favorite things about her. Often I find myself conspiring to do something nice just so I can trigger her hug reflex.
Today I’m using the excuse of our four-month anniversary. I ordered her a custom nightgown bearing an image of her head on Britney Spears’s body and Justin Timberlake kissing her cheek. Rory is mildly obsessed with Justin Timberlake. I like to pretend it makes me jealous, but I actually find it pretty fucking adorable. I guess I’m also hoping this surprise will detract from the fact that it’s the four-month-and-one-day anniversary of the day Hallie died.
I open the front door of the apartment and call out, “Honey, I’m home!” But there’s no answer.
I head past the kitchen toward the bedroom, my mind immediately concocting the worst-case scenario. Reaching the bedroom door, I open it slowly and find Rory curled up on the bed with her laptop open next to her. The blanket clutched in her fist, her auburn hair tumbling over her face. I would let her continue sleeping, but I know she’ll feel even more awful if she doesn’t finish whatever homework she was working on before she fell asleep.
I set the package containing the nightgown on the foot of the bed, then I take a seat on the edge of the mattress next to Rory. “Baby, wake up.” I give her shoulder a light squeeze and she lets out a soft groan. “Rory, are you okay?”
I reach forward to push the hair out of her face and she shoves my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
“What’s wrong?” I should probably be asking her, What did I do this time?
She sits up and her eyes find the package wrapped in silver paper, but she doesn’t look pleased. “Celebrating something?”
I don’t bother responding. I know this is a jab at my attempt to distract her from yesterday’s anniversary. Most of the time, Rory is too smart for her own good. She can spot my hidden motives before I act on them. Most of the time, but not always.
“I just wanted to give you something that might cheer you up. It’s a cheesy gift. You can toss it out if you don’t want it.”
“Cheer me up?” She glares at me and I know today is going to be a bad day. “You want me to cheer up, Houston, then how about you let me have a night out with my friends! Oh, no, you can’t do that because the only friend I ever had is dead.” She slams her laptop shut and kicks the gift onto the floor as she slides off the bed. “With no fucking explanation.”
My heart clenches with guilt, but I follow closely behind her as she heads for the bathroom. “It’s okay to be angry.”
“I’m not angry. I’m furious.”
She opens the medicine cabinet and immediately reaches for a bottle of allergy medicine, the one she uses when she can’t sleep.
“It’s okay to be furious, too. Everyone deals with death differently.”
She dumps eight pills out of the bottle into the palm of her hand, then she turns to me with a wicked smile. “Everyone deals with death differently? Like the way some people choose to not deal with it at all?”
I resist the urge to lash out at her. “You can’t take that many, Rory.”
She glances at the tiny pink pills in her hand. “Well, the six I took earlier didn’t keep you from waking me up.”
“Rory, this is not the way to handle this.”
“Fuck you! Who are you to tell me how to handle it when all you do is ignore it? She killed herself, Houston. She killed herself and she didn’t have the decency to tell anyone why.” Her hands begin to tremble as the tears stream down her cheeks and the pills fall into the sink. “Sometimes I hate her.”
“Don’t say that.”
She grips the edge of the sink tightly, her shoulders leaping with each chest-racking sob. “I do. I hate her.”
“Don’t you fucking say that.”
“Why?” she mewls. “I just want to know why.”
The words in Hallie’s suicide note scroll through my mind like closing credits in a movie. I could end Rory’s misery right now if I wanted to, and I do. I hate seeing her suffer like this. But my baby sister confided her darkest secret to me in that suicide note and I will never betray her.
“You don’t hate her,” I say, stepping forward to place my hand on the small of her back.
She smacks my arm. “Why can’t you just let me feel the way I want to feel?”
“How would she feel if she heard you say that?”
She turns her head to face me, her mouth gaping wide with shock. “Are you serious? Hallie can’t hear, because she’s dead, Houston. She’s fucking dead.”
“Stop that.”
“What are you gonna do? Are you gonna hit me?”
I clench my jaw to keep myself from calling her all the foul names racing through my mind. “Stop it, Rory.”
She places her hands on my chest, probably to push me, but I grab her wrists to stop her.
She laughs as she tries to free her wrists from my grip. “Is that what I am to you? A fucking child? Is that why you love getting my underage ass drunk so you can fuck me?”
I glare at her for a moment, a million insults about her sexual inexperience teasing the tip of my tongue. Instead, I let go of her wrists and leave the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” she shouts as she follows me. “Going to get drunk and fuck another underage piece of ass?”
“Fuck you.” I’m almost at the front door when she lands a hard shove in the center of my back. I round on her, grabbing both her elbows. “I told you to fucking stop it! That’s enough!”
Her hazel eyes are wide with fright, but she’s not ready to back down. “What are you gonna do?”
Our chests are heaving as we stare into each other’s eyes and that’s when I know there’s no one in this world who will ever understand me like Rory. She knows I’d never hurt her. She knows she can rail against my sister and I’ll still want nothing and no one but her. Because no one but me knows how brightly the pain burns inside her.
I let go of her elbows and tangle my fingers in her hair as I crush my lips against hers. I grab a fistful of hair at the crown of her head and tug. She whimpers as she reaches for the button of my jeans. Our mouths nip at each other clumsily as we frantically undress each other.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I shush her as I lift her naked body onto the kitchen table. Her legs coil around my hips and I hook my arm tightly around her waist as I slide into her. She moans and the sound sends a chill through me.
“God, I fuckin’ love you.”
She whimpers as I thrust my cock deeper inside her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers a few more times, until I kiss her to silence her apologies.
She moans into my mouth and the sound is so damn beautiful it sends a shiver through me. I pull my head back and grasp her jaw in one hand so I can look her in the eye as I slide my other hand between her legs.
She gasps. “Oh, God, Houston.”
I stroke her firmly as I move in and out of her until I feel her muscles spasming around my cock. I pull out of her and get down on one knee so my head is between her legs. Then I slide two fingers inside her as my mouth devours her swollen clit.
Her legs squirm and she screams my name with ecstasy. When I slide into her again, I feel as if I might collapse from the pure euphoria of being inside her. She grabs my face and kisses me hard, but I can hear her cries have changed. I tilt my head back to look at her face and she’s on the verge of sobbing. I sweep her hair away from her eyes and I move slowly in and out of her as I kiss each of her eyelids.
“It’s okay,” I assure her and her legs coil tighter around me, her arms squeezing me closer. “It’s okay, baby.”
“I love you,” she whispers in my ear as I come inside her. “So much it scares me.”
I kiss the tip of her nose, then lean my forehead against hers. “You don’t have to be afraid… I’ll never leave you.”
Five years ago, April 6th
* * *
My head twitches to the left, but it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening. There’s something on my face. I let out a piercing shriek as I try to bat away whatever spider or fly is perched on my eyebrow, then I freeze when I hear soft laughter.
I open my eyes and Houston breaks into a full cackle. “Was that you?”
“Sorry,” he says, trying to keep a straight face. “I was just brushing your eyebrow with my finger to wake you up.”
“You jerk. What time is it?”
“It’s 6:30.” He holds his arms out and beckons me to come closer. “Come here. You don’t have to get ready for class for another hour.”
I scoot in next to him and drape my arm across his solid chest. “Is it really 6:30?”
“Yep. Are you still tired?”
“I haven’t slept that well in… months.”
I trace my finger down the center of his chest, smiling as goose bumps sprout over his skin.
“I’m glad you slept,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“I’m sorry about the things I said yesterday,” I whisper¸ my voice choked with regret. “I didn’t mean it.”
“No need to apologize,” he murmurs. “Sometimes… Sometimes I get angry with her, too.”
“She doesn’t deserve that.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
I trace a heart shape over his firm abs and smile when I see his erection rising beneath the sheet. I lightly rake my fingers over his ribs and back up to his chest. Then I trace the letters of the tattoo that stretches from one side of his chest to the other: LOYALTY. His other tattoo is on the inside of his left forearm: REMEMBER. Followed by the date Hallie died. He got both tattoos within the past six months.
Though he almost always avoids talking about Hallie, I know he hasn’t forgotten her. And I know he’s dealing with this in his own way. I shouldn’t have accused him of avoiding the issue. But I do hope he’ll open up to me at some point. I don’t know if it’s realistic to hope for something like that.
I take a deep breath and decide to give it a shot. “Remember that time Hallie got an iPod for Christmas?”
He lets out a soft puff of laughter. “Yeah, and she gave it to your grandma.”
“I didn’t even notice until the day after Christmas. My grandma was wearing headphones when I went to hug her goodbye.”
“She was always way too mature for her age.”
“My grandma?”
He laughs again, squeezing my shoulder as he plants a kiss on my forehead. “Remember when we used to go to the public pool and I had to discipline that fucking eight-year-old kid for staring at her?”
“She was thirteen and too pretty for her own good, but she loved the attention.” I smile as I recall those summers I spent in Hallie’s shadow. “I, on the other hand, hated the pool. All I wanted to do while I was there was watch you, but you never paid me any attention. No matter what bikini I wore.”
“Maybe that was the problem. I would have noticed you if you weren’t wearing a bikini.”
I shake my head as I slide my hand under the sheet and wrap my fingers around his erection. A grin spreads across my face as I realize I finally got all I ever wished for during those summers at the pool. But the smile quickly disappears when I realize it was at the expense of my best friend’s life.
I slide my fist down the length of his erection and his breathing quickens, but he reaches down and pulls my hand up.
He lifts my chin so I’m looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For never noticing you. If I had known… maybe everything would have turned out differently.”
I snuggle up closer to him so I can whisper in his ear. “Different isn’t always better.”
* * *
By the time Houston pulls his truck into the lot of the sports bar, I’m ready to tell him to turn around and take me home, but I hold my tongue. It’s been four nights since our blowout fight over Hallie and I’ve been trying to keep the peace. I kept my cool when he got drunk last night and asked me, in front of all his friends, if I wanted to fuck him in the bathroom. And I kept quiet when we slid into bed a couple of hours later and he accused me of flirting with his best friend, Troy. I’ll just promise to give him a really long blow job if he agrees to be the designated driver tonight.
God, sometimes I hate the person I’ve become.
“What’s tonight’s forecast?” Houston asks as he kills the engine.
“Rainy with a ninety percent chance of beer,” Troy replies from the backseat.
“Just another night of grueling research,” Houston replies and all I can do is roll my eyes.
As soon as we’re seated at a table in the bar, I lay my hand on top of Houston’s thigh and lean in to whisper my proposition in his ear. He grins broadly and Troy just shake
s his head.
“Is that a yes?” I say, taking a sip from my glass of water.
He turns to me and his smile is gone. “If you don’t want to watch me drink, you can take the truck home. I’ll call a taxi.”
He slides his car key across the table and bile rises in my throat as I stare at it. He’s lost all perspective.
I know Houston took the brunt of the impact from Hallie’s death. He was her older brother. He was supposed to protect her. He wasn’t supposed to find her dead body in our dorm. He’s probably suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, but he refuses to see a therapist. He thinks this obsession with creating and consuming craft beer is a healthy alternative to therapy.
I don’t know how much longer I can pretend everything’s okay.
I take the key from the table and smile as I tuck it into my pocket. “I’ll drive us both home… later.”
“How about me?” Troy asks, leaning back in his chair so he can check out the waitress serving beers at the table next to us.
Troy is Houston’s oldest and best friend. They met in ninth grade around the same time Hallie and I met in sixth grade. Hallie had a crush on Troy for about two minutes when she was fourteen, before she decided he was too young for her. Hallie always had a thing for older men.
“Maybe you can get her to drive you home,” I remark, and the waitress turns around.
Her glossy lips curl into a seductive smile as she catches Troy staring at her ass. Troy nods at her and she shakes her head as she walks off with her empty tray. His eyes are locked on her as she leans over the bar, flirting with the bartender while stealing the occasional glance in Troy’s direction.
He stands up and pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie to expose his muscular arms. “I’ll be back.”
“You’d better come back with a pint,” Houston calls out as Troy walks away.
He turns to me and the corner of his mouth turns up in that signature crooked smile. He leans forward and kisses my cheekbone. His lips hover over mine and suddenly I’m grinning like an idiot.