The door to the apartment opens, and I watch with rapt attention as Mika steps inside. Only, I can’t see a damn thing once she does.
“Who the fuck lives there?” I ask Whit.
Whit squints, trying to see, and she snorts out a laugh.
“Old Mrs. Penderson. Mika must have gotten roped into picking up her meds. That cranky old bitch pesters anyone she sees in town because she’s banned from the pharmacy after she tried to shoplift four bottles of aspirin.”
I visibly relax, and start to get out.
“You’re going to have to carry me. My legs have that numb thing going on and don’t want to work,” Whit tells me, slurring a little now.
Shit.
Reaching over, I slide her across the seat, lift her, and shut my door behind us as I carry her toward her apartment. Mika walks out just as I reach Whit’s door, and Whit calls to her.
“Mika! Did that old hag make you get her meds?”
Mika’s eyes jerk toward us, and she stiffens. Ah, fuck. This probably looks really bad.
“Tell that whore to shut her cocksucker!” Mrs. Penderson yells from the open apartment door.
Mika just stares at me, and I start to speak, but Whit is on a mission to fight with an eighty-year-old lady.
“Whore? I’m the whore? You shoplifted aspirin after you wore your vagina out at the Bingo party!”
“You wore your vagina out before you even hit twenty! At least my vagina is still smiling at me. Yours is dragging the ground!”
Fucking disgusting.
“Mika,” I call out, trying to stand Whit up against her door, but it’s like my voice snaps her out of her trance and she walks quickly to her car.
Whit slips and starts to fall, and I barely catch her in time, unable to chase Mika without letting Whit crack her skull open on the concrete. “Mika!”
She still ignores me and gets in her car. She speeds away as Whit continues to goad the old lady who hasn’t shut her apartment door.
“Hag!” Mrs. Penderson yells.
“Bitch!” Whit retorts.
“Slut!”
“Wrinkly old cunt!”
“Cooter funk!”
At that last one, I pick Whit back up and fumble with her door, while cursing my night.
All I wanted was a fucking beer with a friend while I talked to him about bullshit. Instead, I’m stuck in the middle of a name-calling war between an old lady and my ex, while the girl I’ve been obsessed with for the majority of my life drives away like she can’t stand the thought of seeing me.
As if the universe wants to add a dramatic effect to punctuate my shitty night, thunder rolls across the sky.
Fucking unbelievable.
Every second that ticks by is just another second for me to get pissed. By the time I’ve put Whit into bed, I’m furious.
Apparently Mika thinks I’m still the same sweet boy that I once was with her.
Maybe it’s fucking time I show her I’ve changed too.
Chapter 30
MIKA
My heartbeat drums in my ears as the rain drops go from barely there to assaulting my car without mercy. I whirl into my driveway and park in the garage, pressing the button to shut the door as I walk through the garage entrance to my house.
Once upon a time, Chase James ripped my heart out. I was a kid then, and it felt like the world ended. I did a lot of stupid things after that night. I slept with anyone who paid me any attention. I drank and partied like my life wasn’t precious. And I lived from day to day with zero concern for the future.
Now here I am repeating history like the fool I can’t afford to be anymore. Only it’s a different sort of carelessness, and the stakes are unimaginably higher.
Whit is beautiful. She’s nice. She’s witty. I snort as I run that line in my head: Whit is witty.
It’s a sad laugh though. Whit is everything I can never be again. She’s perfect for Chase.
I stare in the mirror at the girl staring back at me. With shaky hands, I slowly pull my shirt up above my stomach, lifting it to be just below my breasts, and I stare at all the scars that mark my skin.
“Mika! Mika, no! What have you done?”
Aidan is yelling, but I’m in a cloud of euphoria, feeling the high of the pain as the blood trickles down from my waist. So much better. It all feels so much better. There’s no more pressure. I made it go away.
“I need an ambulance, at…”
Aidan’s voice trails off as I glance down at my stomach to where the small, shallow cuts are bleeding. I don’t need an ambulance. I need something to bottle this feeling so I can stay in this state forever, no longer worrying about the numbers, the urges, the constant unfinished things that never fucking go away.
She said she’d be here at ten. It’s after twelve. What did she expect to happen? Lydia is never punctual, the bitch. And we were supposed to finish that puzzle. I can’t make the pieces fit by myself. They need to fit. They need to. Can’t people understand you can’t simply leave something undone?