Four Doors Down(43)

He clenches his fists like he’s trying to control himself; I can see a vein throbbing in his temple. He’s really mad at me now, but I don’t care; I’m mad too. “Thanks to you and that skank that you’re not dating, I’ve had the worst headache all day. So, well done. I’ve been suitably punished for not bowing down to the great Ryan Jackson. Now leave me the hell alone!” I shout furiously.

I turn to walk away again, but he reaches out and rests his hand on my left hipbone, his thumb gently brushing the bare skin in between the top of my jeans and the bottom of my T-shirt.

I freeze. What is he doing? That’s way too intimate a place to be touching me. He notices my reaction and glances down at his hand like he didn’t realize he’d done it. He immediately drops his hand and looks away.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says quietly.

What? Now I feel all flustered and don’t know what I’m doing. Oh right, we’re fighting.

“I don’t care, Ryan. I don’t care about any of it,” I declare after a pause.

“Yeah, it really sounds like it,” he says sarcastically.

I shoot him one last venomous look and turn around to see several students standing in the parking lot gawking at us. Brilliant. Now they’ll have that to gossip about too. I hurry back across the parking lot and get into my car. I’m so angry my hands are shaking and I feel dangerously close to tears.

I’m mostly mad at myself, though. I’d started to let him back in, started actually talking to him, not just ignoring him. Started thinking that maybe we could be civil to each other again and maybe one day be friends. I’m an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.





Any hope I had of mine and Ryan’s fight not being public knowledge is quashed the second I walk into the cafeteria the next day. I swear the room goes silent, and then as a whole it’s as if they look at me and then over to Ryan’s table, where he’s sitting next to Jessica, who’s grinning smugly at me with her arm around his shoulder.

God, she’s pathetic. Like I care.

I mean, I’m sure there are some people who couldn’t care less, but it definitely doesn’t feel like it at that moment. I try to toughen it out and join my table, but I’m in a foul mood and after several attempts by the girls to get me to join in the conversation, they eventually give up. And even though I can tell Erica’s desperate to ask about Ryan, the thunderous look I give her warns her off. I only glance up once and, of course, there Ryan is, glaring straight over at me, making it so obvious that his whole table is aware and gawking too. I feel like I’m in a fishbowl and give up. I’m not having this. I leave my untouched tray of food on the table, grab my bag and leave without a word, trying to pretend I don’t notice the hush that falls over the room. They probably think I’m going to go crazy and start a fight or something. I guess this is what happens when you fight with the prom king and queen. I haven’t been back to the cafeteria this week.

I’m still thinking about this later that week when I pull up outside Jay’s house to collect him for my mom. I beep my horn, expecting him to run right out as usual, but there’s no sign of him. Awesome. He’s probably doing this on purpose and is in one of his brattish moods. I climb out of the car, slamming the door behind me and make my way up the path to the front door. It’s only when I’ve rang the doorbell I realize the driveway is unusually full of cars. I turn back to the door confused and ring the bell again, but I still don’t get an answer.

I try the doorknob and it’s open. “Hello?” I call.

I step into the house and I’m instantly met with the smell of smoke and is that…marijuana? I make my way down the hallway, calling out to Jay and my aunt. I head toward the kitchen, as I can hear music blasting from that direction. I swing open the door to the kitchen and stop dead.

My aunt is at the kitchen table laughing manically at something one of the three men who are also at the table has said. The table is strewn with beer and empty liquor bottles and there’s a haze of smoke hanging over them. The blinds of the room are closed so the whole room is bathed in darkness with the only light coming from a lamp in the corner. There’s aggressive rock music that I don’t recognize blasting from the iPod dock.

My aunt looks up and sees me. “Becca!” she shouts loudly.

She jumps up and staggers drunkenly to greet me and tries to throw her arms around me. I let her hug me but actually duck my head back to avoid her breath. She’s clearly been drinking for hours. I have no idea who the men are. They’re all my aunt’s age or older, and from the looks of them, she met them in one of the dive bars she’s been hanging out in. They’re all covered in tattoos, dressed in scruffy jeans and t-shirts and all look creepy as hell.

Aunt Ruth pulls me over to the table. “This is my niece,” she announces.

They look at me with interest, and I can feel their eyes raking up and down my body as I try not to shudder.

My aunt grabs a used glass next to her and tips some whiskey into it before shoving it into my hands. “Here, have a drink!” I look down in surprise at my hands. My mother would flip if she knew my aunt was offering me alcohol.

What is going on? I feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe. This is not the aunt I know. I know she’s been going through a hard time recently, but I had no idea she was drinking to this extent and mixing with these men who are clearly using her for the drinks in her cabinet and whatever else they can get.