Thoughtful (Thoughtless, #1.5)(48)

Matt and Griffin fought more than usual during rehearsal, so it took longer than usual. Every time they started getting into it, I closed my eyes. Standing by my microphone, I even nodded off a couple of times. I was mentally and physically drained. When Matt finally called it a night, and Griffin muttered, “Thank God…let’s go drink,” I was relieved. Until I got into my car and contemplated what to say to Kiera, that was.

I’d gone over it a thousand times in my head, but I hadn’t really come up with a good way of telling her how I felt. Maybe I should write her a song? Serenade her? God, no, that was pathetic.

After the guys left for Pete’s, I laid my head back on the seat and closed my eyes. I needed something good, something honest, something real, so she would know I was serious, that I wasn’t playing her, messing with her mind, or trying to be the playboy people assumed I was. I just wanted to be with her.

When I opened my eyes, it was hours later. Damn it. I’d fallen asleep. Turning on the Chevelle, I made my way home. Oddly enough, Kiera’s car was at the house. I figured she’d still be working, but this was good. I could talk to her now instead of waiting until later. But now that I was finally here, and this was finally happening, my nerves returned. I took small, uncertain steps to my front door, not sure what I was going to do or say. I had to ease into it. I had to listen to her pain over Denny, be helpful and understanding, then gently offer her an alternative to her misery. Surely she’d want an alternative?

I held my breath as I opened the front door. Quietly closing it, I let out a long exhale. I glanced into the living room and kitchen, but Kiera wasn’t there. Walking over to the stairs, I opened my mouth to say her name, but I heard something odd and I froze, listening. It almost sounded like Kiera was watching TV, but…if she was, she was watching the type of movie Griffin preferred. Clear sounds of sex were floating down the stairs to me. Panting, moaning, a bed squeaking. Then I clearly heard Kiera cry out. Having heard that sound before, I knew it wasn’t a TV show. It was real. She was f*cking someone…right now.

Completely floored, I backed away from the stairs. I couldn’t comprehend what was going on. This wasn’t Kiera. She wasn’t the type of girl to bring some stranger back to the house. It would have to be someone she knew. But who did she know in Seattle besides me? Maybe a guy from school? She hadn’t been there long though, and I just couldn’t believe she would do that to me. That she would do that to…Denny. Fuck. Denny.

My eyes returned to the chair in the living room. A coat was lying on the back of it; bags were sitting behind it. Denny’s coat. Denny’s bags. Denny was home. He was here, in my house, screwing the girl I’d just made love to. My girl. No…his girl.

She’d always been his. She was upset last night because of him. She’d let herself get drunk because of him. She’d screwed me to forget about him. Everything was all about Denny. I was nothing to her. Absolutely nothing. She’d used me, just like every other bitch had used me.

I could still hear them f*cking upstairs. There was no way in hell I was staying here, listening to that. Not after I’d had her. Not after I’d figured out how much I loved her. Fuck. Pain tightened around my chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to do anything. I loved her so much, and she didn’t give a shit about me at all. She didn’t want me. No one wanted me.

I needed to get out of here. I needed to stop my head from spinning. I needed to stop thinking. Heading for the kitchen, I tore open the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. I needed to get rid of this pain in my chest. I needed to lose consciousness, and this would help me do it.

I left the house, wondering if I could ever return to it. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to ever see her again. Especially since her lips, her body, the moans she’d made for me were so fresh in my mind. Damn, she’d really fooled me. I had actually believed, for just one small minute, that I’d meant something to her. How stupid of me.

I kept picturing her and Denny together while I drove. I pictured their mouths pressed together, their hands on each other. I visualized him thrusting into her over and over again. And because I was a sick son of a bitch, I even pictured the looks on their faces when they climaxed together. Fuck. Denny could be coming inside her right now. My pain transformed into jealousy as I thought of his seed covering mine. By the time I arrived at my destination, Sam’s house, my jealousy had shifted into anger.

That f*cking bitch, whore, slut.

Grabbing my whiskey, I got out of my car and slammed the door shut. Then I reopened it and slammed it again. That little f*cking cunt. She teased me for months, finally got me to f*ck her, then went right back to him like it was nothing. Like we were nothing. She was the biggest f*cking whore I knew. And I knew a lot of whores.

I paced Sam’s walkway and started taking long pulls, two-or three-gulpers. I was going to finish this f*cking bottle and slip into f*cking oblivion. The rage would end. Then the jealousy would dissipate. Then the pain would stop. I gagged a couple of times but kept forcing the whiskey down. I couldn’t take this ache in my chest. I couldn’t handle the way every muscle in my body felt tight. I was shaking, and I felt like I might throw up. Why did I have to care about her? Why did she have to do this to me? Why couldn’t she just love me the way I loved her?

I kept drinking until eventually my body rejected the alcohol. While I lay there, inhaling and exhaling deep, controlled breaths, I heard a voice say, “What the f*ck is this?” Sam was home. He kicked my boot. “Kellan? That you? What the hell are you doing here? And…did you throw up on my roses? Goddammit.”