Back to You

May 2003
Del sat in the passenger seat of Lauren’s car, staring out the window at the passing scenery.
“I’m not an idiot, you know.”
Lauren looked at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Well, sometimes I’d have to disagree,” she said with the hint of a laugh. “But what are you talking about?” { display: block; text-indent: 5%; font-size: 0.88rem; margin-top: dyasm.
“I know what this is about.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her looking at him, and then she turned her eyes back to the road, saying nothing.
He knew he was being an a*shole; she was just looking out for him. But he couldn’t help it.
It was the anniversary of the night Aaron died. Lauren knew that. And what Del wanted to be doing right now—what he’d done every year on this night since he was thirteen—was to drink until he passed out. Lauren knew that too.
Which, of course, was the reason for this little road trip.
Lauren claimed she needed his help with something tonight, but Del knew better. She hated when he drank too much, especially when he used it as a coping mechanism. She had used those exact words with him once, and he’d laughed and told her not to quit her day job.
Even though he knew that’s exactly what he was doing.
“Just…humor me,” she said quietly before she reached to turn the radio on.
For the next twenty minutes, neither one of them spoke as Lauren drove them through the next town and pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a small warehouse.
She cut the engine and removed her seatbelt before she turned to look at him.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Del squinted out the window, just making out the letters of a small neon sign hanging above the door of the building.
TRASHED.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, but she was already out of the car.
With a huff he took off his seatbelt. “Hey,” he called as he exited the car, and she turned to look over her shoulder. “What the hell is this?”
“Come on,” she said simply, reaching for him.
With a resigned sigh he walked over to where she was standing and took her outstretched hand.
Lauren led him to the door and pulled it open, and they walked into what looked like a small china shop. The walls were essentially floor to ceiling shelves, filled with various plates, glasses, mugs, bowls, and vases. There was a counter on the far wall, where a cash register sat above a long glass case filled with what looked like small porcelain statues and knickknacks. The man behind it appeared to be in his twenties; his hair was dyed a deep black and styled into meticulous spikes, and two piercings adorned his lower lip.
Del halted in the doorway, surveying the area with confusion, but Lauren pulled him forward as she approached the man behind the counter.
“Hi,” she said. “My name is Lauren Monroe. I think we spoke on the phone?”
“Lauren, yes,” he said, and Del immediately straightened his posture at the way the guy was looking at her. “Good to meet you.”
She nodded with a smile. “This is my friend Michael,” she said, pulling him a bit closer to the counter.
The man nodded politely at him. “Glad to have you with us. So, are you guys all set?”
“Just him,” Lauren said.
“Okay then. Right this way. Your room is all ready.”
The man turned and walked down a small hallway to the left of the counter, and Lauren moved to follow him.
Del yanked on her hand, and she stumbled back toward him, wide-eyed.
“I’m not going anywhere until you nd"> shoulder tell me what the hell this is.”
For a second, she just stared up at him. “You don’t trust me?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do,” he started.
“Then just come with me,” she said, cutting him off. “If you don’t want to do it, we’ll leave.”
She looked up at him for another second, reassuring him with her eyes before she turned back toward the hallway, and this time, he allowed her to pull him along.
There were two doors on either side of the hall, and Lauren followed the man into the last one on the right.
As soon as they stepped inside the room, Del released her hand and crossed his arms, looking around. One of the walls appeared to be made of plexi-glass. He could see four chairs lined up on the other side, facing the room. The other walls were painted black and had sheet metal nailed to them. Del furrowed his brow, noticing the dents, nicks, and scratches that peppered the once shiny surfaces.
But the strangest thing of all was the long table set up against the back wall; there were four large stacks of plates in varying sizes and colors, several wine glasses, a few serving bowls, and one large crystal vase right in the center.
Del turned to look at Lauren, but she was looking at the man, nodding at something he was saying.
“And that’s it,” he said. “Here you go.” He handed her something that looked like folded cloth.
“Thank you,” she said, and the man turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
She turned then, looking at him; the steadfast confidence from earlier was diluted with a hint of uncertainty now.
Before he could say anything, she walked over to him. “Here,” she said softly. “You have to put this on.”
Michael looked down at the gray fabric in her hand.
It was a pair of coveralls, similar to what a mechanic might wear.
“And these,” she added, holding out a pair of safety goggles.
Del studied them for a second before he looked up at her, finally understanding.
“Am I…? You want me to break all this shit?”
Lauren nodded.
When Del just stared at her, she gestured toward the table. “I got you the dinner party package,” she said. “Sounded like a good one, but what do I know.”
Del turned and surveyed the room once more. He must have still looked confused because she said, “It’s supposed to help. You know…to get rid of stress. It’s much healthier than…other things.”
“Red, this is ridiculous.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
He looked down at the coveralls in his hand, and for a moment, the room was completely silent.
Finally, he took a deep breath. “So I just put this on and throw shit around?”
The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Pretty much.”
He looked down again and nodded. “Alright,” he said, reaching for the goggles.
She smiled then, the last of her uncertainty disappearing as she handed them to him. “I’ll be out there,” she said, gesturing toward the plexi-glass window. She went up on her toes, kissing his cheek before she turned and exited the room.
When the door clicked softly behind her, Del@is"> shoulder exhaled, turning to survey the room again.
This was stupid.
There was no way throwing a few plates against the wall was going to make him feel any better. He wanted to be home, in his room, with a bottle of Jack and his stereo blasting loud enough to make thinking impossible.
But she had looked so hopeful. And she had gone through all the trouble to set this up.
With a sigh, he pulled the coveralls on over his clothes and slid his hands into the thick, protective gloves.
Lauren came into view then, gently lowering herself into one of the chairs on the other side of the glass wall. She looked calm—peaceful, even—as she watched him.
Del walked toward the table, positioning the goggles over his eyes before he reached over and took a small blue plate off the top of the pile.
He turned then, facing one of the metal walls. He looked over to where Lauren sat, shrugging his shoulders before he threw the plate against it.
It exploded with a sharp, crunching sound.
Del flexed his hand at his side. He would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t get the tiniest rush from it. Just the slightest flicker of adrenalin. Nothing like a shot of Jack, but decent enough.
He turned back toward the table, choosing one of the bigger plates. This time, he held it by its side, flinging it like a frisbee toward the wall.
It splintered into tiny white shards that scattered to the ground, and Del laughed, looking over at Lauren.
She was watching him, her expression even.
With a smile on his face, Del turned and grabbed one of the wine glasses. He brought his arm back, throwing it with a bit more force.
And then it happened.
As soon as it hit, as soon as the sound of glass shattering filled the tiny room, Del squeezed his eyes closed, bringing his clenched fists in front of them.
Glass shattering.
A grating shriek of metal.
His brother’s shout.
This night. Eleven years ago, but it could have been yesterday. He could still see it so clearly.
And now he could hear it, too.
Del made a small noise in the back of his throat as he tried to slow his breathing, but he could already feel his hands shaking. This was why he needed to be home. This was why he needed to drink tonight. Because the alcohol blurred the memories, made them comfortably fuzzy, so that they didn’t seem real anymore.
But he was seeing it now. And it was so real.
It was too real.
“Please. Please. Please,” he chanted through gritted teeth. He was breathing heavily now; a slight tingling began in his spine, and his stomach churned unpleasantly.
Why did he have to call him that night? Why the hell did he have to be so pathetic? Why couldn’t he have just learned to take care of himself?
And why couldn’t his brother have told him no? Just once, why couldn’t he have refused him?
“Goddamn it, Aaron!”
Del whirled suddenly, grabbing the first thing his hand landed on and launching it against the wall.
“I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”
The bowl crashed against the metal as he brought his fists to his eyes again, shaking his head quickly.
shoulder>“But what if you forget you love me, like Daddy did?”
“Never. I’ll never forget.”
Del spun wildly, not even seeing what he pulled from the table as he whirled around and heaved it, and before it even made contact with the wall, he was reaching for the next object.
“It’s your fault your father is gone, and now you took your brother too.”
“F*ck you!” he shouted, grabbing an entire stack of plates from the table and flinging them at the wall with the full force of his body. “F*ck you!”
He spun back to the table, grabbing two wine glasses and throwing them both, stifling a sob in the back of his throat.
“I’m sorry I made you come get me when you were sick.”
Del groaned pathetically as he dropped onto the table, swiping his arm across it, sending half of what was there crashing to the floor.
Metal crunching.
A hideous squealing noise.
A flash of light.
He brought his fist down hard on the table, hearing the plates and glasses rattle as a few toppled over.
“No need for sorrys, Mike. You can always count on me.”
He grabbed the large crystal vase from the center of the table and brought it above his head.
“You promised!” he screamed as he turned and launched it across the room, stumbling forward with the force as the vase shattered against the far wall.
And then he dropped to his knees.
His whole body shook with tremors, and his ears rang with the sudden silence. Del fell forward onto his hands, exhaling in guttural grunts.
The shards of broken glass on the floor spun in a dizzy arc before his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, trying desperately to catch his breath.
Del had no idea how long he sat there attempting to get control over his body, but eventually he felt her presence. His eyes were still closed, but he knew she was beside him.
“Tell me what you need,” she said softly.
He was still trembling slightly, his breath unsteady. Slowly, he pushed off his hands and sat back on his heels. “A drink,” he rasped, looking up at her for the first time.
There was no disappointment in her expression. There was no sympathy either, which would have been worse in his eyes.
There was only understanding.
“It’s in the car,” she said gently. “Let’s get out of here.”
Del nodded, taking another second to get his bearings before he stood, and Lauren stepped back, giving him his space.
They walked to the car in silence, and Del was grateful in that moment that she knew him so well. She didn’t try to hold him, or talk to him, or console him in any way. She just let him be, which was exactly what he needed.
They got in the car, and Lauren reached behind her, pulling a brown paper bag out of the backseat and handing it to him.
Del reached inside and pulled out the bottle of whiskey, tossing the bag on the floor as he unscrewed the cap and took a shot of it. Lauren busied herself with putting on her seatbelt and starting the car, giving him whatever privacy she could in the confined space.
By the time they pulled out of the park { display: block; text-indent: 5%; font-size: 0.88rem; margin-top: about rying lot, Del had taken a second shot; he rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth seep through his body as it started taking the tension out of his muscles.
His mind was deliciously empty now; behind his closed lids it was dark and serene, and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
A few minutes passed before he felt her fingers on the back of his hand, tentative and gentle.
He cracked one eye and looked over at her.
“Home?” she asked softly.
He looked down to where her hand rested over the top of his, and he turned his slowly so that his palm was facing up before intertwining their fingers.
“Yeah,” he said, resting his head back on the seat as he closed his eyes again. Del lifted the bottle, taking a third shot.
She continued to drive in silence, her thumb making tiny passes over the back of his hand, and suddenly Del felt like he was melting into the seat. He wasn’t sure if it was the energy he’d just exerted, the trauma of reliving the accident, the third consecutive shot of whiskey, or the way she was touching him, but whatever was causing it, he just wanted to suspend time and feel this way for a while.
By the time they got back to his house, Del had taken his fourth and fifth shots, and his body was starting to succumb to the numbness he’d been craving all night.
Lauren pulled into his driveway, putting the car in park and letting the engine idle.
He remained where he was, his eyes still closed, and she sat there in silence, her hand in his, once again giving him exactly what he needed.
Finally he spoke, his husky voice rasping through the silence. “Stay with me for a while?”
When there was no answer, he opened his eyes and turned to look at her.
Her eyes were on him, gentle despite being unreadable.
“Of course.”
Lauren released his hand to turn off the car, and Del unbuckled his seatbelt and got out, walking around the side of the darkened house.
When he reached the tiny backyard, the motion light came on, casting a soft glow across the grass. He inhaled deeply before he lowered himself to the ground, resting his elbows on his knees.
A moment later Lauren came into the yard, and Del brought the bottle to his mouth again as she delicately folded her legs underneath her, sitting beside him.
The night air was heavy with the dewy scent of spring and the distant sound of crickets chirping.
“How did you know about that place?” he finally asked.
“Mr. Brennan was talking about stress reducers in psych class a couple of weeks ago. He said there were places like that. I just looked it up.”
Del nodded as he looked down at the bottle in his hand, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Well, thanks. I think,” he added with a tiny laugh.
Lauren shifted on the grass, crossing her legs in front of her. “Do you want to talk about Aaron?”
His smile fell. “No.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her look down. A beat of silence passed before she asked, “Will you anyway?”
He turned toward her, irritated. “What, is this part of your psych class too? I’m not an experiment, you know.”
She lifted her eyes then, looking at him.
And even in the dim light, he could see t@is"> shoulderhe hurt there, and he had to look away.
“I just…I know he was important to you,” she said, turning away from him and picking at the hem of her jeans. “I just wanted to know about him.”
Something pricked in Del’s chest at her tone of voice.
At the words she had spoken.
He hadn’t talked about Aaron in so long. And he realized then that one of the main reasons for that was because no one ever asked him to.
He inhaled slowly. “Aaron was my brother, my mother, my father, and my best friend. He took care of me. Maybe more than he should have. I wish I hadn’t needed him so much. And I miss him every day.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. Maybe it was because he’d already dulled his raw emotions, but that hadn’t hurt as much as he’d expected it to.
“I bet he needed you too,” she whispered. “Probably more than you realized.” Lauren reached over, taking the bottle out of his hand.
Del thought she was cutting him off and he was about to protest, but then she surprised him by bringing the bottle to her lips.
She grimaced as the liquor hit her tongue, and Del watched in shock as she took two long pulls from the bottle. She was about to take a third when he reached over and yanked it away from her.
It splashed down her chin, and she brought the back of her hand to her mouth as she whipped toward him. “Hey!”
He looked at her wide-eyed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“What, you’re the only one who’s allowed to take the edge off?” she asked, her voice thick with the burn of the alcohol.
“Just let that settle for a minute. Jesus.”
She swallowed and coughed, turning away from him, and Del could only imagine how much her throat must be burning.
A few minutes passed before she spoke again. “Thank you. For telling me all that,” she finally said.
He nudged her with his shoulder, and she turned back toward him. “Thank you for asking.”
She smiled softly. In the dim glow of the motion light, he could see that her eyes were glazed.
It already hit her. Of course it would have.
She looked down at the bottle and then back up at him, quirking her brow.
He had no idea what this was about, but who was he to deny her?
“Slow,” he said, handing her the bottle, and she nodded, bringing it to her mouth and taking a much smaller sip. She flinched again, shaking her head slightly as it went down.
“You know,” she said, her voice somewhat husky before she cleared her throat. “I was kind of jealous of you in there tonight.”
He smirked, looking over at her as she handed him back the bottle.
“You got a lot of built-up aggression, Red?”
She smiled, looking down as she shook her head. “No, not aggression. Frustration, maybe.”
He glanced at her. She was studying her thumbnail, and there was something about her expression that didn’t sit right with him.
“Come on,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Like you could have done any real damage anyway.”
She rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”
“I mean seriously, look at these things,” he said nd"> shoulder, reaching over to grab her bicep. He jiggled her arm, and it flapped lifelessly under his hold. “What were you gonna do?”
She whirled suddenly, attempting to grab his arm, and he pulled it out of her reach with a laugh, jumping back slightly.
She immediately followed him, lunging forward and gripping his wrist, trying to twist his arm behind his back. He laughed at her determination, but her attempt was pathetic. He let her maneuver his body for a minute, giving her the false impression of success, and then he shifted his weight, circling his wrist quickly so that he was the one gripping her arm.
Del brought his body forward suddenly, bringing her arm behind her back, and the shock combined with her fuzzy reflexes forced her backward onto the grass.
He landed on top of her, one of his hands trapped between her body and the ground and the other on the grass beside her, holding up some of his weight.
For a second, they both froze.
And then Lauren shifted her leg slightly, urging his body into the cradle of her thighs.
Instantly he pushed off of her, wrenching his hand out from underneath her as he sat up. Del looked down, brushing the grass from his pants before he reached for the bottle that was now lying in the grass between them.
As he righted the bottle, he could see her sit up slowly. Her eyes were forward, but there was a firm set to her jaw.
She said nothing.
Del focused his attention on wiping off the mouth of the bottle with his shirt, and then he looked straight ahead, taking another shot.
“You pick girls for sex.”
He closed his eyes, resting his elbows back on his knees as he swirled the bottle.
“You pick girls for sex, but they’re not good for you. They’re not nice girls.”
“Thanks for the news flash. I had been so confused as to what keeps going wrong.”
“I have a point, you know,” she said, matching his tone.
“Well then why don’t you stop stating the obvious and get to it?”
He heard her take a small breath, and when she spoke, her voice had softened significantly. “Did you ever think about a friends with benefits situation?”
Del froze with the bottle at his lips. He sat that way for a second before he resumed his movements, taking a long, slow sip.
Had he ever thought about it?
Jesus. Ever since they’d kissed a few months ago, all he’d been doing was fantasizing about her.
Sure, he’d fantasized about her before that a few times; after all, he was a guy, and she was a beautiful girl, and he was only human. But he never had any intentions of acting on it.
Then they’d made out on his bedroom floor.
And once he’d kissed her, really kissed her, felt the weight of her body moving against him, it was all he could do not to push her into the janitor’s closet every time he passed her in the halls.
And nights like this, nights they spent alone together, were always the hardest.
But he knew better than to sully her. So he continued to throw his efforts into other girls. Meaningless girls. Girls that were all wrong, of course, like she had said.
On the surface, their friendship had gone back to normal after his little slip-up. But underneath it all, he knew he wanted her. He had crossed a line, and now the craving he had for her@is"> shoulder was a living thing, gnawing at him all the time.
But the absolute worst part was that he knew it was more than just a physical desire. He didn’t just want her body. But he had been burying his emotions for most of his life, and emotional feelings were so much easier for him to ignore than physical ones.
That night in his room, he could see in her eyes that she wanted him too. And now the alcohol was making her brave enough to ask for it.
Del was aware that she was looking at him, that she was waiting for an answer, so he did the only thing he could think of to do.
He laughed it off.
“Enough of the sauce, Red.”
“I’m not drunk,” she snapped.
“Well, you’re not sober.”
She looked at him for a second before she rolled her eyes. “I was just asking, Michael,” she said, taking the bottle from his hands and turning forward again.
She took another slow sip, and for a second, Del thought she was going to drop it, but then she turned back toward him.
“You said it gets messy, but why does it have to?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“If you’re friends with someone,” she continued, “if you care about them and trust them, it shouldn’t get messy.”
“If you’re friends with someone, that’s the reason it gets messy,” he said tiredly, passing a hand over his eyes.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked. “You don’t think it would be so much more enjoyable if you cared about the person? Trusted the person?”
She turned further toward him, hopping up on her knees, growing more earnest as she argued her point. “Look, you told me once that I should use better judgment when it comes to guys, right? And clearly you need help in that area. We both care about each other, so why can’t we just be something a little more to each other instead of going to the wrong people for that kind of thing?”
She was making sense. Perfect sense. But his mind was already made up.
“Relationships get messy,” she continued. “But this?” she said, gesturing between them. “This could be great.”
She was quiet then, and Del knew he needed to respond. He was racking his brain, trying to think of a valid argument, but he couldn’t come up with anything. And not just because she had presented such a strong argument, but because deep down, he wanted exactly what she did.
He ran his hand down his face and made a desperate attempt at a defense. “You’re a virgin.”
“So?” she nearly yelled, her voice indignant as she whipped her head toward him. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m not making fun of you,” he said quickly, trying to mollify her. “I think it’s great that you are.”
Her shoulders softened slightly, but her expression was still defensive.
“But…I’m not taking your virginity. That should be something special.”
“What’s more special than my best fr—”
“It’s out of the question, Lauren,” he said firmly, cutting her off.
Del saw her shoulders drop as she turned forward, the { display: block; text-indent: 5%; font-size: 0.88rem; margin-top: about ry set returning to her jaw.
He’d used her real name, and she knew that meant he was serious.
Lauren closed her eyes, and he turned away from her, looking down at the grass as he picked at it with his fingers. There was a reason he went for the girls he did: because the good girls were too good for him.
And she was the best of them all.
He had to remember that he had a knack for ruining people’s lives. She’d regret him being the one, he reminded himself. It should be another guy.
Although the thought of another guy getting to touch her that way, getting to be that for her, was enough to make him want to put his fist through a wall.
“You know,” she said softly, pulling his attention back to the present, “for someone who’s supposed to be a tough guy, you’re a real chicken shit.”
He whipped his head toward her, his eyes wide with surprise before he laughed.
“We’ll talk about this when you’re sober,” he said through a smile, shaking his head as he reached over to take the bottle from her.
And even though Lauren never brought it up again, he thought about it all the time.