You're to Blame(7)

“You can’t let everyone assume you’re the cause of this mess.” Lydia slams her hand down on the bar, and stands, fury simmering deep in her eyes. “The police have questioned you how many times, Duke?”

“That’s not relative. He’s going to wake up, and then, it’ll be his responsibility.” I chug my beer, and wave goodbye.

Like most nights, I come home to a quiet apartment, a perk of living alone. All I want to do is shower off today’s dirt and crash onto my mattress. The warm water spatters across my muscles, and my thoughts drift to Charlotte’s anger. No one can blame her for how she reacted. From the outside, it looks bad. From the inside, a little less so, when you know the whole story. I had nothing to do with Jacob’s accident. Everyone believes I was supposed to be with him that night. Jacob had told Charlotte, at least.

The cool air hits my wet skin as I step out of the shower and into my room. I push play on my iPod dock and up the volume. An angry, unfamiliar rock song blares from the speaker, playing my anthem for the night. With the towel around my waist, I fall to the comfort of my bed.

My phone rings several times as I stare up at the ceiling. There’s no need to look at the screen to know who it is. As of late, there’s a regular girl who only wants one thing from me. She scratches an itch for me, and she knows it. She’s content with the arrangement as long as she gets off in the end. Much like most girls these days, she and I together are easy.

“Not tonight.” I slam my finger into the ignore button.

How do I tell a girl I’m not in the mood to fuck, without sounding like a colossal pussy?





Chapter Three





Charlotte


Wes skips into the hospital room with too much pep for eight in the morning. He’s way beyond too loud when he slams into the chair across from me. I smash half a bagel into my mouth and attempt to chew through my massive migraine.

“You look horrendous.” The corners of his eyes wrinkle with his smile.

My forehead hits the rigid hospital mattress, and a loud groan escapes my mouth. At least I think I groan. My inner monologue has been on high this morning.

“Don’t start with me. I’m glad you find this amusing.” I glare at him. Even his neon orange t-shirt makes my head throb with a pressure that refuses to be rubbed away.

Wes avoids his brother’s lifeless body. It’s as if Jacob’s not even in the room with us.

“Late night? I figured you turned in early since you never called for a ride,” Wes questions.

“We went to Murphy’s.” I slump back in the chair, blindly reaching for my coffee on the table.

Wes stares at the dry erase board across the room, his thoughts a million miles away. The silence becomes too much.

“You okay?” Something is going on, and I’ll be damned if I ignore Wes’s odd behavior.

He glances up. “Yeah, I’m just surprised you got into Murphy’s.”

“Rachel had a fake I.D. made for me.” I flippantly wave him off. “No biggie.”

“Of course, she did.” His smile stretches wide, the first sign of emotion I’ve actually pulled from him since he walked through the door.

I’ve always thought Wes had a crush on Rachel. When we were in elementary, he’d follow her around, purposefully teasing her about her clothes. It was when we were in high school that he began to openly harass her about each and every boyfriend she had. His smirk gives him away. He’s definitely smitten for my best friend.

But for how long?

“You wouldn’t happen to have a thing for Rachel, would you?” I ask.

Pink tints his cheeks. He leans forward and kisses me softly on the forehead before disappearing through the doorway. No answer. No acknowledgement of my accusation. Simple silence. What he doesn’t understand is silence sometimes speaks greater than actual words.

I stare at the off-white door for a second or two and evaluate the small details of my crazy life lately. Seeing Duke. The way I treated him. Him taking the time and care to pay our bar tab and our cab ride, insuring we got home safely. The news of Wes crushing on Rachel.

What a mess.

My attention shifts to Jacob. I gently lower my head to his chest. His heartbeat reminds me this all could be far worse. In our situation, it’s easy to forget how truly lucky we are. The prospect of a full recovery isn’t impossible, so the doctors say.

They keep telling us to talk to him, and at first, fear loomed over me at the idea, but now, what can it hurt? If they’re right, then he can hear me, and if he can hear me, then he’ll have a reason to wake up. My theory at least.

“I ran into Duke last night,” I mumble against his chest. “I was hideous towards him.” Even in his current state, Jacob is familiar and safe. “I called him names and blamed him for everything that’s happened to you.” I take a deep breath. “He’s not responsible. I am, and that’s why I’m going to apologize.”

For the next hour, I hold Jacob’s hand. Desperate for answers. Desperate to spot his blue eyes again. The silence is something I’ve grown used to sitting in this room. It seems another day will pass with no change.

“I’ll be back later. Try to wake up while I’m gone, will you?” I still, hoping for a sliver of movement. A prayer is sent up. Just one small motion. Please. I just need one small movement. When I don’t detect anything, I pull away. Defeat is heavy on my heart for another day.