“Was she angry? Was she upset? Why did she leave?” I asked through my teeth.
America took another step. “She just hates goodbyes, Travis! I wasn’t surprised at all that she wanted to leave before you woke up!”
I held Shepley against the wall and looked to America. “Was she . . . was she crying?”
I imagined Abby disgusted that she’d allowed some asshole like me, someone she didn’t give a shit about, taking her virginity, and then I thought maybe I’d somehow, accidentally hurt her.
America’s face twisted from fear, to confusion, to anger. “Why,” she said. Her tone was more an accusation than a question. “Why would she be crying or upset, Travis?”
“Mare,” Shepley warned.
America took another step. “What did you do?”
I released Shepley, but he took a fistful of my shirt as I faced his girlfriend.
“Was she crying?” I demanded.
America shook her head. “She was fine! She just wanted to go home! What did you do?” she yelled.
“Did something happen?” Shepley asked.
Without thinking, I flipped around and swung, nearly missing Shepley’s face.
America screamed, covering her mouth with her hands. “Travis, stop!” she said through her hands.
Shepley wrapped his arms around mine at the elbows, his face just a couple of inches from mine. “Call her!” he yelled. “Fucking calm down, and call Abby!”
Quick, light footsteps ran down the hall and back. America returned, her hand outstretched, holding my phone. “Call her.”
I snatched it from her hand and dialed Abby’s number. It rang until the voice mail picked up. I hung up and dialed again. And again. And again. She wasn’t answering. She hated me.
I dropped the phone to the ground, my chest heaving. When tears burned my eyes, I picked up the first thing my hands touched, and launched it across the room. Whatever it was splintered into large pieces.
Turning, I saw the stools situated directly across from each other, reminding me of our dinner. I picked one up by the legs and smashed it against the refrigerator until it broke. The refrigerator door popped open, and I kicked it. The force caused it to spring open again, so I kicked it again, and again, until Shepley finally rushed over to keep it closed.
I stomped to my room. The messy sheets on the bed mocked me. My arms flung in every direction as I ripped them off the mattress—fitted sheet, top sheet, and blanket—and then returned to the kitchen to throw them in the trash, and then I did the same with the pillows. Still insane with anger, I stood in my room, willing myself to calm down, but there was nothing to calm down for. I’d lost everything.
Pacing, I stopped in front of the nightstand. The thought of Abby reaching into the drawer came to mind. The hinges squeaked when I opened it, revealing the fishbowl full of condoms. I had barely delved into them since I’d met Abby. Now that she’d made her choice, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
The glass was cold in my hand as I picked it up and launched it across the room. It made contact with the wall beside the door and shattered, spraying small foil packages in every direction.
My reflection in the mirror above my dresser looked back at me. My chin was down, and I stared into my eyes. My chest heaved, I was shaking, and by anyone’s standards looked insane, but control was so far out of my reach at that point. I reared back and slammed my fist into the mirror. Shards stabbed into my knuckles, leaving behind a bloody circle.
“Travis, stop!” Shepley said from the hall. “Stop it, God dammit!”
I rushed him, pushed him back, and then slammed my door shut. I pressed my hands flat against the wood, and then took a step back, kicking it until my foot made a dent at the bottom. I yanked on the sides until it came off the hinges, and then I tossed it across the room.
Shepley’s arms grabbed me again. “I said stop!” he screamed. “You’re scaring America!” The vein in his forehead popped out, the one that appeared only when he was enraged.
I shoved him, and he shoved me back. I took another swing, but he ducked.
“I’ll go see her!” America pleaded. “I’ll find out if she’s okay, and I’ll have her call you!”
I let my hands fall to my sides. Despite the cold air filling the apartment from the open front door, sweat was dripping from my temples. My chest heaved as if I’d run a marathon.
America ran to Shepley’s room. Within five minutes, she was dressed, knotting her hair into a bun. Shepley helped her slip on her coat and then kissed her goodbye, offering a nod of assurance. She grabbed her keys and let the door slam behind her.
“Sit. The fuck. Down,” Shepley said, pointing to the recliner.
I closed my eyes, then did what he commanded. My hands shook as I brought them to my face.
“You’re lucky. I was two seconds away from calling Jim. And every brother you’ve got.”
I shook my head. “Don’t call Dad,” I said. “Don’t call him.” Salty tears burned my eyes.
“Talk.”