Chaos and Control(5)
“Coach, another shot,” I yell.
He nods and goes to fetch the bottle. Meanwhile, Sawyer spots me. When our eyes meet, his jaw drops open and his lips silently form my name. He finally closes his mouth, swallows, and gives me a brilliant smile. It’s that charming smile that knocked my panties off at sixteen, and I’m sure it still reels in the ladies.
“Wren,” he says, sliding down the bar so that we’re a couple of feet apart.
“Sawyer,” I answer.
“Wow. You look…”
“Yeah, different. I know.”
He takes a seat on a barstool and leans toward me. “I was going to say beautiful.”
“Oh,” I answer, surprised. “Well, thanks. Looking good yourself.”
And he does. He is the epitome of an all-American yearbook photo. My tequila appears in front of me. I grab the glass and throw it back, not even bothering with the salt and lime. Sawyer’s gaze never leaves me. He’s staring, and it’s unnerving.
“Do I have something on my face?” I ask, my fingers swiping at my cheeks.
“No,” he says, chuckling, finally looking away. “I just never thought I’d see you again.”
“Well, here I am.”
“Yes, you certainly are,” he muses, grabbing the beer Coach places in front of him. “You go see your folks yet?” I shake my head and look away. “Well, let me know if you want me to tag along. I know you hate going alone.”
“Yeah, sure.” His worried look is authentic. Before we were anything else, we were friends, and his concern reminds me of that.
“How’s Mr. Cuddles doing?”
Sawyer blanches, his eyes shooting to Bennie and then returning to me.
“Come on, Wren. I’m a grown man. I don’t need a stuffed bear around anymore.”
“So he’s good?” I tease.
“Yeah,” he answers. “Safe and sound.” We both laugh as Sawyer shrugs in resignation. “Never could hide anything from you.”
“Like your Ghostbusters memorabilia or your comic books?”
He rolls he eyes and drops his head. “Yes, like that stuff. Which, before you ask, is also just fine.”
“Good to hear. Hey, at least I kept your secrets safe.”
“That you did. You sticking around for a while?” Sawyer asks before taking a long pull from his beer. I watch his lips and throat and everything else that moves as he swallows.
“Not sure yet,” I confess. I feel Bennie stiffen next to me. “The plan is to make no plans.”
“For what it’s worth, I hope you do.” He tips his baseball cap at me and winks. “Good to see you, too, Bennie.”
She raises her beer in his direction as he rejoins the group of guys. Now that I look closer, I recognize most of them from high school. The same old people in the same old town, still treating Logan Sawyer like he’s a god. It’s no wonder he never left.
“Thinking of revisiting some old ghosts?” Bennie asks, bumping my shoulder with her own.
I watch Sawyer and his friends start a game of pool. Every few minutes his eyes connect with mine. He smiles just for me.
“I think that ship has sailed,” I say. “But he looks good, right?”
“Even Mayor Tuttle’s wife flirts with him.”
We both laugh and fall into an easy silence. Bennie finishes another beer, and I have two more shots before we decide to call it a night. The night air is cooler now, and it feels good against my flushed cheeks.
When we get back to Bennie’s, we each retreat toward our rooms.
“Catch you on the flip side, kid.”
“Good night, Ben.”
I crawl in between clean, soft sheets for the first time in weeks. The mattress sinks and holds me as I stare up at the shadows on my ceiling. As I drift off to sleep, the sweet sound of Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young” plays from the apartment next door, and I fall into dreamland with a smile on my face.
I wage a war
Not against others, against myself
A battle fought with both enemies
Defending the same turf
Obsessive is not always a disorder
Compulsion feels satisfying on the tongue In the mayhem that is my mind, a single light shines Not a low burning bulb casting shadows An instant sun to chase them away
Her name is Wren
A stranger, a strange girl, just strange No filter for her mouth
Unapologetic words spill out, such truths Encroaching my space uninvited
With no thought to why I want her there In a world of microbial infections
She is 99.9% pure
A healing elixir sold from the pockets of a miracle man Such beauty quiets my loudest demons A free spirit wrapped inside a papier-maché girl Spouting instructions like shake the knob and lift She holds the keys to my sanctuary
Coming in through my thoughts
Because the door is locked
- Preston
Chapter Three
Rumours
Tequila is one of those things you always regret, like dropping out of school or eating that third doughnut. My head is throbbing, my pulse a heavy rhythm in my ears. I know I need a shower and some greasy food to feel better, but I can’t seem to make myself get out of bed. A bright rectangle of light glows behind lace curtains, and I know I’ve slept in late.