CHAPTER 49
Josh
“What the hell, Drew? It’s two in the morning.” I look at his car in the driveway and it’s empty. At first, I suspected he was bringing Sunshine back here because she was drunk, but there’s no one in the car.
“You already drop Nastya off?” I ask while he follows me into the family room.
Calling her Nastya sounds wrong, but I don’t feel right saying Sunshine out loud anymore.
“She’s at home.”
“So what’s going on? Weren’t you supposed to be home an hour ago?” I still don’t get why he’s here.
“Sarah’s covering for me.” Drew looks away like he doesn’t want to tell me something and it pisses me off because I’m sure it has something to do with Nastya getting shit-faced again at one of the parties he’s always making her go to and I’m getting sick of it. When he turns back to me, though, I’m pretty sure I’m mistaken.
Everything I see in his face is wrong.
The look he has now is so empty of everything I associate with Drew that it wakes me up all at once.
“Why? What happened?” He doesn’t answer and I have to ask him again. “What happened, Drew?” I demand.
“I don’t really know.” His eyes are red and he looks like shit.
“In a second, I’m getting in the car and driving over there if you don’t start giving me some answers that make sense.”
“None of it makes sense, Josh.” He shifts from defeated to pissed and when he glares at me, I think he’s talking about more than Sunshine.
“You sound like her with the cryptic bullshit. Is she okay?”
“She said she was. Her face is messed up, but she seems all right.”
“What happened to her face?” My words are slow and my voice comes out lower than I expect it to.
“Kevin Leonard.”
“Kevin Leonard?” I feel like smashing Drew’s face into the wall, at least until I can get to Kevin Leonard, and I don’t even know what happened yet.
“What did he do to her?” The words are forced. I’m struggling to control my anger long enough to find out what this is about, but I don’t know how long I can do it.
“I don’t know. Hit her. I think he was taking her clothes off. She really didn’t tell me anything.” Drew runs his hand through his hair again and I notice that his knuckles are bleeding and there’s blood on his shirt.
“How did she end up with him in the first place? Weren’t you with her the whole time? Isn’t that why you talked her into going with you?”
Drew studies the torn knuckles on his right hand but doesn’t answer.
“Where the hell were you? You drag her to these parties, you get her drunk and then you leave her alone?” I make sure the accusation is clear.
His head whips up and everything about him goes on the defensive.
“She’s not helpless, Josh. In case you haven’t noticed, she kind of does whatever she wants. I didn’t drag her anywhere and I haven’t gotten her drunk since the first night. She gets drunk all on her own now.” He’s trying to justify it to himself but I can tell it isn’t working.
“She hates being alone at those things.
She wouldn’t have walked away from you.”
“She didn’t.” Guilt. He did ditch her.
“She texted me, but I didn’t hear it. She went upstairs where it was quiet so she could call you to get a ride. When I got up there, she was on the floor and he was on top of her.” He tells me her face was bruised and bleeding, and when he gets to the part about her underwear around her ankles, he can’t keep talking because he’s trying not to cry, and if I weren’t so disgusted with everyone in the world, I might actually be crying, too.
“You left her alone.” I want to kill him. I want to blame him so I don’t have to blame myself. I can’t even think about the phone call.
“Yes, Josh! That’s exactly what I did!
I guilt-tripped her into coming with me and then I left her alone because I’m selfish and that’s what I do. You don’t think I know? Trust me, I know. I don’t need you to remind me that I’m a prick. I’ve been reminded all f*cking night, by her face and the blood and—” he runs his hand back through his hair as his voice cracks again and I really hope he doesn’t lose his shit because I can’t see that. Not on top of everything else. Because, right now, I’m seeing her face and the blood, too, and I don’t want to lose mine, either. “Just trust me,” he says, “I know. Okay? I know.” His back is leaning against my kitchen counter and I’m leaning against the wall across from him. Neither of us says anything for what seems like an hour even though it’s probably less than a minute.
“She didn’t tell you anything?”
“Not really.” He shakes his head wearily. “The f*cked up part is that she didn’t even seem surprised. It was like she just expected it.”
“Why didn’t you bring her here?” I ask.
“I did.” He levels his eyes at me and pauses to let this sink in, because in the shock of absorbing what happened to Sunshine, I’ve all but forgotten what I was doing while she was alone in a bedroom with Kevin Leonard. “Think real hard, Josh. We drove straight to your house about two hours ago. The garage was closed and the lights were off so I thought you were asleep and I used my key. We walked into the house and guess what we heard?”
“She came in with you.” It’s not a question. It’s a hand grenade.
“I thought seeing you was the only thing that would help her.” The bitter-laced sarcasm is dripping from his voice and I’m not sure which one of us he despises more at this moment.
“What did she say?” I ask, but it’s quiet because I really don’t want to know.
All I’ve thought about since the day she walked out of here was the day she would walk back in. And tonight she did.
“Nothing. She hasn’t said a word to me since we walked into your house.”
“I need to see her.” I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to face that she knows what I did. I don’t want to face that I know what I did. But I need to see her. I need to see that she’s still here and still ok, even if she hates me. Her hurt might kill me but I can survive her hate.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” It’s absolute.
“Who the f*ck are you to say I can’t see her?”
“Who the f*ck are you to say you can?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that she looked like hell when we walked into your house and she looked worse when we walked out.” I feel sick. Not figuratively sick. Sick like I might throw up right now. My face must tell him something, because his tone loses a little of its edge. Or maybe he’s just tired of this whole shit night. “Josh, even if I did think it was okay, which I don’t, because right now I think you’re acting like me and I don’t like you very much. But even if I did say you could see her, it’s not up to me.”
“She won’t see me.”
“She won’t see you,” he confirms. He won’t offer me hope, and for the first time tonight, I feel grateful. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?” He hasn’t stopped asking.
“No.”
“Fine. Are you going to tell me what you were doing f*cking Leigh?” His tone is as cold as his expression.
“I’ve been f*cking Leigh for years.” It’s
true.
It’s
like
second
nature.
Technically, nothing I did tonight was wrong. I didn’t take advantage of anyone. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t leave Nastya alone with a drunk a*shole. I can make all of the arguments that I want, to Drew, to Sunshine, to myself, but knowing how “not wrong” I was doesn’t make me feel like any less of a prick.
I can even tell you why I did it. For the same reason I did it the first time and every time after. It was comforting and it made me feel normal. Leigh showed up, walked in and said hi, and like always, it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. She sat on the couch and we watched television until she leaned over and kissed me and I let her because there wasn’t a price to be paid or a choice to be made anymore. Sunshine had made that choice for me.
Leigh picked up my hand and led me back to my room and I went. For one night, I just wanted to pretend that there wasn’t anyone to miss.
“You don’t love her.” It’s an accusation, and if there was any humor at all in this situation, I would laugh, because I have no idea how Drew Leighton says this with a straight face. I want to hit him for it, and for so many other things, but there’s a part of me that knows that I just don’t need one more thing to be pissed at myself about tonight. Maybe I should hit him just to get him to hit me back, because that’s what I deserve. I want him to hit me.
I want him to beat my face in so I don’t have to feel anything but that pain. The other is so much worse.
I walk to the opposite side of the room to put some distance between us, but he follows, sinking down onto the couch and sighing like this has been the longest night of his life. And I know that it probably has been, but I don’t have any sympathy to offer him.
“This isn’t really news, Drew. Why don’t you just say whatever bullshit you want to say to me and then get out?”
“You love her.”
“I think we just established that I don’t.”
“Not Leigh. Nastya. You love Nastya.” I hate that word and it sounds all wrong coming from Drew’s mouth. Drew, who makes a career of mocking it, of destroying girls for hoping for it. Drew, who has no right to judge me, but is sitting on my couch, with his feet on my coffee table, doing just that. Yet I don’t deny what he says. I should deny it; deny it all night until I’ve convinced even myself that it could not possibly be true. That I couldn’t really be so self-destructive as to fall in love with any girl, much less a girl who is cracked in a thousand places and who will leave me as soon as she’s put back together again. But I guess the ability to think rationally has left me because I don’t deny it at all. It’s late. I’m tired and scared and hurt and so incredibly sorry and I just can’t think straight anymore tonight.
“She doesn’t know that,” I say finally, looking at Drew as if this might be an excuse for my behavior. As if it could make any of this less horrible. The words taste like the regret that is filling me up and spilling out of my mouth.
“Josh,” he says, and when he does, all of the irreverence and sarcasm, all of the judgment and condescension are gone from his voice and I hate him already for what he is going to say next.
“Everybody knows that.”