He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gracie: Dumb, Dumb, Dumb

I am an idiot. A stupendous, horrid, and naïve idiot. What was I thinking? I'd been living with Avery Weston for nearly two months now, but it only took two days to know what kind of person he is. Heck, even on the very first day I met him, I saw how he treated his hookup dates. Short answer: poorly. He got what he wanted and then kicked them to the curb. Why did I believe he'd treat me any different? Especially since he'd been nothing but bluntly rude to my face this entire time.

After leaving the bathroom with what I'm sure is mascara running down my face, I have no desire to re-join the party. Great. Now Weston has ruined my whole night. So much for Halloween. All I feel like doing anymore is isolating in my bedroom and crying in the dark. Humiliation and betrayal seep into my body like an IV. It stings everywhere. It truly, physically hurts. And the worst part is that nothing had even happened yet. The kiss never existed. All that remains are these premature feelings running loose throughout my body. One thing is certain. I will never, ever make a dumb mistake like that again. Weston can go back to his booty calls and one-night stands for all I care. Now that I know he hasn't changed, and likely will never change, our relationship has downgraded to mere acquaintances living within the same four walls. Maybe it's better this way.

I end up running into a broad chest. A very tall broad chest. I crane my neck up. Eli steadies me, but his lips quickly pull down to a frown when he sees the misery I'm in. "Woah, Gracie, hey! Are you okay?" Those three words have my lips quivering. He starts whipping his head back and forth. "Who do I need to beat up?"

I'm shaking my head and tearing off my flower crown. "It's nothing. I just- I think I'm gonna call it an early night."

"So soon? It's not even ten yet."

"I just don't feel like partying right now" I croak out.

"Hey." Eli holds a hand to stop me. He lowers his voice. "Did something happen? You can tell me. Weston made me swear to look out for you, and if something happened on my watch, he won't let me live it down."

I wrinkle my brows. Weston made him swear that? Whatever. There's no point in getting caught up in mixed feelings anymore. "No. Nothing happened. I just want some alone time. Do you think you or RJ could call a taxi for Nessa to make sure she gets home safe?"

"Yeah of course."

"Thanks." I start leaving because I swear if one more person asks me if I'm okay, I will cry on command. And that's an ugly sight nobody wants to see.

But as I climb the steps, RJ is there, and he's half drunk, half sober, offering an open arm. "Hey! My favorite girl! Gracie, get over here!"

"Not now" I grit through my teeth and zombie walk past him into my room, where I stay for the rest of the night. I lock myself in there and chuck my flower crown into the corner. I rip off my pathetic wings and my dress, slipping on an oversized sweatshirt and my classic pajamas with teddy bears on them. And then, in the dark, I let out my frustration and cry. And cry. The tears don't stop and I'm okay with that. The plan is to wallow in self-pity today and then get a hold of myself for tomorrow. Rehearsals for Footloose start Monday. I won't let some boy troubles interfere with my concentration on the thing that matters to me most in the world; theatre. Forget boys. Men are on the backburner of my mind for now.