Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(107)

I pulled my hood up over my head and yelled at Nate, “Thanks!”

He lifted his head from the draught he was topping then flipped me off and went back to the beer.

“Casey, don't be a dick. They're worried about you.” She reached her hand across the table and it touched me.

I recoiled. “Don't. Hey, I got myself into this. I wonder if everyone will throw me a I-Told-You-So Party. Yeah, that'd be awesome. I can get all of these Poor Casey, you knew this was going to happen, and what did you expect talks out of the way all in one shot. Well, did you guys ever think that I didn't think this was going to happen? Did ya? I WAS WRONG!”

Nate made quick time to the table and shoved me over on the bench, backing me up against the wall.

“Listen. You don't have to yell at her. We get it, man. This shit sucks. But this is life. You made a choice and shit didn't turn out. You've got tonight to get ripped. Sit here all f*cking night until you pass out. Be my guest. All the time you need. Tonight. That’s life, man. Wake up!”

“I don't want to wake up,” I growled back like a rabid dog.

“That's your choice. This shit will lose you a lot more than some girl.”

“The girl, Nate. The. Girl.” I slumped, brought my thumb and index finger to the bridge of my nose and took a breath. “I'm drunk. Just let me be drunk. Please?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Sure, no problem. I'll get you some more ice. He stood to return to the bar, grabbing my empty glass. “Don't yell at her again.” He pointed to Aly with the hand that held the glass and gave me a threatening look. “Got it?”

He didn't wait for me to answer. We both knew it wasn't really a question.

Aly didn't say anything. Her eyes looked red, but she smiled at me. It was more toothy than sincere.

“Just. Leave.”

Was everything from then out going to be make believe?





Sunday, May 24, 2009


THE WHOLE THING FELT like dress-up from when I was a child. Make believe. I was the bride and Grant was the groom and we got married and we were going to live happily ever after. Everyone else believed it, why didn't I?

I saw Casey at the wedding. I was glad that my mother gave me a Valium when she found me like she had still sitting in the chair.

She'd heard everything. So, I didn't feel the need to tell her anything more. She kissed my forehead and simply asked, “Are you ready to go?”

I said no, but got up anyway. I loved her for not asking more about it.

The wedding breezed by. The reception did the same. We danced. I drank and then I drank a little more. Micah took care of me while she was there, but she left a little after ten, and I couldn't blame her. They had little Foster to take care of.

The night went on and on.

Finally, we went to the hotel and Grant put me to bed. He took care of me.

“Thank you,” I said as he pulled my shoes off and pulled the covers up over my dress.

“You're welcome Mrs. Kelly.”

Then I puked.

We flew to St. Bart’s the next afternoon. I was well and truly hung-over and Grant was delicate with me. I wore my sunglasses and admittedly was zero fun.

When we arrived on the island I'd asked him if we could rest up the first night and he agreed. It was the first night of our honeymoon, the second day of my marriage, and I would have given anything to be anywhere else.

“I'm sorry, Grant. This can't be that much fun for you,” I told him on the second day we were there.

“It's okay. I just want you to feel better. Maybe we can do some stuff tomorrow. Go out. See the island a little. Maybe do some snorkeling or something. To be honest, it's been kind of nice not doing anything.” He sat at the opposite end of the couch and rubbed my feet as I lay there watching television.

“Okay. I'll be better tomorrow. I promise.” Then I pretended to fall asleep until I actually did.

The next morning, I woke up and felt much better everywhere except in my chest. I expected the pain that had taken up residence there wasn't from overindulging at our party.

I decided to take a walk and clear my mind. Get my head straight.

I wrote Grant a note letting him know where I'd gone, grabbed the hotel’s stationery and pen, and left.

My crazy mind concocted this crazy notion that if I wrote everything down and threw it into the ocean that I could let it go. I think some old tribe somewhere used to do that with dead people. They'd set them free. That was my plan.