Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(25)

Time passes; the door remains closed.

Nothing.

I slam on the gas and head home, beating myself up for being so stupid.

My mom has always said, when someone shows you what they think about you, believe them. It’s not what a person says that matters; it’s what they show. And although Clifford always says he cares about me, his actions certainly don’t show it.

Numbly, I drive to my complex, and when I don’t hear Clifford’s muscle car pull up behind me, my self-hatred intensifies.

I walk to my apartment in a blur of tears and head straight for the freezer. Pulling out a bottle of cherry vodka, I screw off the cap and tilt it to my lips.

“Whoa…rough night?” Mindy’s tucked under a blanket on the couch in the dark with the only source of light the flickering of the television.

I cringe as the liquid paints my throat in fire and then morphs to numbness. “I’ve had better.”

She sits up and clicks off the remote, plunging her into total darkness before she turns on the lamp at her side. “You wanna talk about it?”

I throw back another swig of vodka. “Let’s see. Do I want to talk about what an idiot I am? How I manage to lay myself down to be a doormat for men who could give a flying f*ck about me? No. Not really.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s all part of the learning process.”

If only that were true, but something tells me I’ll always be this girl—the one who falls backwards for anyone who offers to use his dick on me.

Oh wow, the vodka is kicking in.

I cross to the living room and drop into the overstuffed chair. The icy bottle hangs from my fingers, and I offer it to Mindy.

She takes it and throws back a healthy chug before handing it back. I take another shot.

“Ax, this is what college is for. You get out there, screw whoever you want, however you want, and then when the time comes to settle down, you’ll know it. You’ll walk into a committed relationship with the knowledge that you thoroughly played the field and exhausted all your curiosities.” She sits back with a proud grin.

“It’s not that easy for me. I get…attached.”

“Yeah, that happens,” she says sadly.

“The worst part is I’m so sick of being walked on, and yet I continue to put myself through it. I’m lying to myself about what I have with these guys, glorifying it or something, when it’s really so simple. I give. They take.” I toss back another gulp and start to feel a little better, still pathetic, but at least the burn of humiliation has now been tempered with a warm belly full of booze.

A heavy pounding on our door breaks our reverie.

Mindy’s eyes widen on me as she calls, “Who is it?”

“It’s Clifford!”

I groan and Mindy grins. “I’ll leave you two alone. Just”—she leans in—“remember what I said. Explore all avenues and take it for what it’s worth. Experience. That’s it.”

Detach. Okay. I can do that.

She crosses to her bedroom and Clifford pounds again. “I know you’re in there, Elle. I saw your car downstairs.”

I wobble to my feet and open the door. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze slides to the bottle in my hand and he grins. “One-woman party, huh?”

I don’t answer him, but continue to glare.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Why did you leave?”

My jaw practically hits the f*cking floor.

He holds up a hand. “I didn’t invite those girls over, I swear. They just showed up and John invited them to stay.”

“They ate my dinner.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that was f*cked up. I should’ve said something. I’m sorry. I get so caught up in those games. I just…” His eyes meet mine and I see genuine remorse there. “Can I make this up to you?”

“I don’t know—”

“Come on, babe. I drove all the way over here…”

Five miles.

“…apologizing…”

Eh…weak apology.

“…and you left before I got to ask you something important.”

I blink up at him. “What?”

He steps close so that his feet are now over the threshold and he’s standing toe-to-toe with me. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about us, and”—he slides a hand into my hair, cupping my jaw—“I want to take you out.”

“Out, like…now?”

His lips tilt in a tiny half smile, and my heart softens a little. “No, out as in on a date—for Valentine’s Day.”

My breath catches in my throat and makes his smile widen. He doesn’t realize my shock isn’t because he offered to take me out; it’s because I hate Valentine’s Day.

I swore the night Stewart Moorehead ruined it for me I’d never acknowledge the damn day again. That I’d spend it doing boring shit that would be a big ole f*ck you in the face of Cupid.

But maybe Mindy’s right.

What’s the harm in letting him take me out? If nothing else, it’ll be a little reimbursement for all the meals I’ve bought him and his friends. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even have fun and finally be able to replace the horrid memory of that day with something positive.