Blue
It takes every aching bone in my body not to fight against the rent-a-cops. I don't want to get arrested. Spending the night on a cold bench and have the memory of Lily screaming that she's done with me playing on a loop the whole night would be worse than hell. I already have a criminal record longer than it's supposed to be for someone as young as me. I haven't murdered anyone or robbed a bank, but a few more arrests will land my ass directly in prison. So, I let the beefy mall cops drag me out of the pristine hotel without swinging a fist or head-butting or doing any minimalistic thing to set them off and take me to their big brothers of the law.
The taller guard of the two roughly shoves me out of the massive glass doors, pointing a fat finger at me. "I don't want to see your face around here again, you hear me?" His voice is rough but does nothing to intimidate me. I've beaten up guys twice his size.
I balance myself and run my knuckles against my split cheek. "Nah, your stank-ass breath is too strong for me to concentrate on any of your bullshit," I spit with a toothy grin. Now that I'm outside and not in their fancy hotel, they can't touch me for the sake of their high-class reputation. That and I couldn't help my overflowing rage voicing itself.
"What the hell did you just say to me?" He flexes the stacks of muscles under his tight black shirt in an effort to scare me, but it doesn't do anything but make me laugh my ass off. He can probably lift the lamppost behind me and hurl it at me, and I still wouldn't be scared of him. There's nothing scarier than watching the only love of your life look at you like you're the scum of the earth. Like you were utterly nothing.
My smile melts into a blank nothingness as I watch him ignore the other guard telling him to calm down and storm over to me. I do nothing as he throws his fist into my jaw. Pain explodes under my bloody skin, but I don't go down. I want him to hit me again. I need to feel something other than just dull and quiet agony. He comes rushing toward me, yelling about how he's going to break every bone in my body. If only he knew how much I crave for that. I close my eyes with a sick smile, but after a few seconds of feeling nothing, I open my eyes to find him and the other guard walking back into the hotel.
But before he disappears inside, he yells over his bulky shoulder, "If I see you around here, I won't hesitate to finish what I started." When he says this, I open my mouth to tell him I'm not leaving because I'm not scared of him, but then he stares me straight in the eyes and says with a promise: "I'm not leaving this door until those people you disturbed safely leave this place." Then, he turns around and waltzes inside like the not-so-incredible Hulk.
Fuck.
I shouldn't have pissed him off. I should have just kept quiet and left because now he'll specifically be guarding the door and looking for me. Meaning I can't come back and try to talk to Lily again. I've basically lost my opportunity to try again. Even though she told me to go, to leave her alone, I can't. A decent human being would have listened and just give up. But I'm not decent. I'm selfish. I'm greedy. I'm rude. But most of all, I am hopelessly in love with Lily. Nothing will make me stop wanting her, in every sense of the word.
Feeling tears swell in my eyes, I sniffle and swipe the back of my hand under my eyes. A great convenience about blood is that no one can tell if you're crying. I cup my palms under my eyes and clench my hands. What the hell am I going to do? I can keep texting and calling her, but I doubt she's even checking her voicemail inbox or has even gone to the point of turning off her phone. The little sensibility in me is telling me to give her some space, to let her gather her thoughts and feelings. She desperately needs it; she looked like a mess when I saw her just now, and not just physically. I could see the buildup of all the nasty emotions behind her dull blue eyes. Hear the desperation for me to just back the hell off. I nearly died when I saw her like that. She's always been bright and bubbly and so irrevocably beautiful, but now... now I've killed the old her because I'm a damn idiot.
Fuck.
"Fuck," I voice my thoughts.
The most I can do without cold handcuffs slapping on my wrist tonight is go back to the dorms and get some rest. I feel like I might fall over my feet; I'm mentally exhausted, my knuckles are bleeding from pounding on her hotel room door, my face is bruised and cut up, and I need to recharge, or I won't be able to try again with Lily tomorrow. Knowing where she is makes things a lot easier. Her and her family are staying in New York for the three-week break. They'll have to leave sometime, right? I can only hope. I won't stop trying. I'll sit out here for the next twenty-eight days straight if I have to.
I walk down the street and try my best to push everything that's happened in the last five hours in the deepest crevice of my messed-up brain. I manage to walk all the way to the nearest bus stop station and jump on the bus, without thinking about all that's happened. But when the bus stops in front of a beauty salon, I catch sight of a poster of a girl that looks too much like Lily to not think about her and only her. The girl doesn't have magnetic ocean eyes or a smile that outshines the famous stars in Georgia. She isn't her. No girl will ever be her. None of the girls I've fooled around with even measure up to her. She's literally the greatest thing in my life, and I've single-handedly pushed her away. Per usual. Only, this time, I will not let her get away.
Unable to stop myself, I pull out my phone and send her one last text for the night.
Blue: I won't give up, ballerina. Just hear me out... please. I love you. Sleep well, beautiful.
My phone pings with a response the moment I shut off the screen. I immediately unlock my phone again, hope sparking back to life. But my heart drops to my ass when I see the response.
Lily: This is her father. Stop trying to contact her. We are leaving tomorrow, hopefully you'll stop hurting her more or I'll have to show you not to mess with my daughter.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
She's going back to Georgia. The first instinct that comes to mind is to book a flight and follow her there, but I don't know her old home's address, and I doubt her father would be nice enough to give me it. What the hell am I supposed to do now? She's going away to a state too large to track her down. And judging by her dad's text, he's most likely already blocked my name and even gone as far as cancelling her phone. How the hell am I supposed to remedy this fucked up situation if she has three whole weeks to forget I ever existed?
I grip my phone in a death grip and hold myself back from smashing it against the window. My blood is steaming hot and my mind is racing. I don't know what to do now. Do I say fuck it and catch a bus going back to the hotel, where I will definitely be arrested, or do absolutely nothing and let her leave? Everything in me is screaming to do the former, hoping maybe she'll see me risking getting locked up just to get her to hear me out as romantic or some sappy shit like that and she'll actually hear what I have to say. But then the image of her screaming at me to leave her alone, tears flooding her beautifully dull eyes pops up in my head, and I just know she won't give a crap if I have to spend the next week in lock up. She doesn't care about me anymore.
I snap and kick the seat in front of me.
The older lady in the plastic seat turns to glare at me. "Have you lost your damn mind?"
Ignoring her, I jump to my feet and pound my fist against the back doors. We're still moving, but I need to get the hell out of here before I do worse than disturb a fucking grandma. The bus driver shoots me an annoyed glance in the mirror above his head, but noticing how pissed off I am, he decides not to mess with me and stops the bus. He made the right decision. I am so far out of my mind, I would have kicked down the damn doors. Then I would have surely gotten arrested.
I'm back in the freezing cold, but I barely feel it. I'm too numb to feel anything. I look around my surroundings: a deli store, a closing shoe store, and people laughing in front of two bikers. I have no clue where I should go. Going back to the school and sleeping sounds like a waste when I could be strategizing. But my head is way too fucked for that. I need to go somewhere I can re-charge and come up with a coherent plan.
Before I know it, I'm sprinting down the dark block and jogging down steps to the subway station. I jump on the uptown train and completely blank out my mind. I'm too weak to think about Lily. I'll get lost in the ocean of memories I'll cherish forever, and I don't have time for that right now. About forty-five minutes later I get off the train and climb two stairs at a time. I collide into a young college girl at the top of the stairs, but I don't apologize. I run down the street and barely look both ways before bolting across the street. Already the air smells fresher, there's BMW's rolling down the lit streets, and I can see my father's huge townhouse down the street.
I'm out of breath by the time I arrive. And clueless as to what the hell to say or do. Why did I come here again? I stare up at one of the balconies, wondering what excuse I can give my 'family.' They undoubtedly have a ton of questions. I won't answer any, but I need to do something.
I pat my pockets for the set of keys my father gave me when they moved in but remember they're back at the dorm. I don't even know why I kept them. I was this close to chucking them in the Hudson River, but then decided to keep them in case of emergency. Which, at the time, meant if I wanted to fuck a girl I had with me and I was in the neighborhood. I was so disgusting then, in the sense that I was with other girls when Lily Lockheart existed.
But before I can even ring the doorbell, the black door swings open, revealing Elliot in T-shirt and sweatpants. He looks like he just woke up. Hopefully that means the other annoying shits and their questions are all asleep.
Suppressing a yawn, Elliot asks, "Blue, what are you doing here?"
"I came to throw tea party," I say sarcastically.
"What?" He yawns, and I roll my eyes.
"I don't know, actually. I was just in the neighborhood... thought I would drop by," I lie.
He lifts an eyebrow. "At midnight?"
"Yes, grandma. Am I interrupting your beauty sleep?"
"I was just in the kitchen for a drink and saw you as I was passing by."
"What kind of drink?" I ask, hope in my voice.
"Water."
Lame ass.
"Move out of the way, I need a big boy's drink," I say, and he moves out of the way. I walk past him, not expecting him to give a comeback. One: because he's a pussy and knows I will and can beat his ass. And two: because he's drowsy and used to me.
I walk into my father's study and make a beeline for the bar in the corner. Elliot sits in one of the leather accent chairs in front of the gigantic fireplace. I ask him if he wants a drink, but he of course says no, so I double my drink of scotch. I bring the bottle with me to the fireplace. My throat burns as the scotch goes down, but the heat is better than the Oakwood fireplace in front of me. It's silent as I finish off the much-needed drink in five minutes flat, and I know he wants to say something. Ask one of his questions. But he must sense that I'm not in the mood and I'm on my second-tall glass.
I want to drink this entire bottle of expensive scotch and forget this night ever happened. I want to drink until my mind goes numb from the fiery frenzy making everything I do ten times worse. Holding the bottle is a challenge. Pouring more into my glass is a battle. And trying to forget her is fucking impossible.
On my third glass, Elliot decides to finally speak up.
"So... tonight," he questions. I contemplate entertaining him or not.
"Tonight was stuff of nightmares, brother," I reply and finish my drink. I throw my head back against the soft leather and let the liquor hit my liver.
"What happened?"
"None of your fucking business," I snap.
"Okay." He sighs and picks at his sweatpants. He's too polite to snap back at me.
I roll my eyes. "I fucking lost Lily tonight, okay? Is that enough to satisfy you?"
He looks at me. "Why would that satisfy me?"
I shrug, pouring my fourth glass, which he eyes but doesn't comment on. "Maybe because you're an A1 prick."
"Hey, I just care. That's all." His smile is annoyingly white and charming. It makes me want to throw up. but I settle for taking a large swig of the burning scotch. His light eyes scan my face. "Did you get beat up and mugged on the way here?"
"No," I snap, then realize I must look like complete shit. All bloody and bruised. I consciously rub the side of my face and pull my hand back. I stare at the blood covering my palm. "I pissed off a wannabe Hulk, and you already saw Finn hitting me earlier."
"He more than hit you." He laughs.
"Shut the hell up," I bark, but he just keeps laughing. I roll my eyes and drink some more.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He means it, which pisses me off some more. He looks at me again and furrows his thick eyebrows, chewing on his pointer finger knuckle, a nasty habit he's had since we were kids. "Can I ask how you lost her?"
"Sure... if you don't mind getting hit right after." I shrug. "All you need to know is that I fucked up, big time, and she's done with me. So..." Realization hits me, and I begin to pour my fifth drink. Elliot's hand around the neck of the bottle stops me.
"Maybe you should take a break from drinking," he suggests.
"Maybe you should get your hand off the bottle." I smile sarcastically.
"I'm not taking you to the hospital to get your stomach pumped... again." He makes a good point, but I don't tell him that. I let him set the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table. Turning to me, he gets very serious. "And maybe you can fix what you broke."
"I can't." I shake my head. "I broke her."
"Maybe what you did isn't that bad. Maybe you two can make up soon." He sounds incredibly naïve. Then again he sees the world in vibrant colors and things come easy to him, like his gorgeous fiancée, his massive colonial house in Long Island, the cherry-apple Porsche he got for his eighteenth birthday, every-fucking-thing.
I sigh. "There's no getting her back."
"Perhaps..." he starts to say but stops and looks at the fireplace.
"Perhaps what?" He was about to say some bullshit, and I want to hear it.
He nibbles on his lower lip. "Perhaps whatever happened was supposed to happen. You've never had anything good as her in your life. You probably self-destructed like usual and ruined it for yourself. I sound harsh, but you know it's the truth. The timing for you two probably wasn't right."
"Fuck you!" I want to leap across the table in between us and strangle him. He has no fucking idea what he's talking about.
He looks at me with sad hazel eyes. "I'm sorry to upset you, Blue."
"If you were sorry, you wouldn't have said it in the first place." I'm out of here. Why the fuck did I come here in the first place? I jump to my feet and grab the bottle before storming out of the room. I hear him running after me, but I ignore him and throw open the front door.
"At least give her space, let her decide what to do next," he calls after me.
I throw up my middle finger while drinking straight from the bottle. I'd be a damn fool to listen to that prick. I will not let her go so easily. She is the best thing to ever happen to me, he's right about that. But he's fucking wrong to say we should be apart. We're supposed to be together. We just are.