Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) (29 page)

Briefly, I wonder what Carolyn would do. She’s married to a handsome man, she’s rich, and she’s got the body of a well-practiced surgeon. And she’s a cold-hearted cunt. What if the reason Dylan and Bach did this to me was because I let them? I practically begged them for it. They’d never do it to Carolyn. But they did it to me.

I promise myself right then and there that they won’t do it again. No man will. The fact that I can’t recognize myself makes sense now. I don’t want to remember or be her. She’s a trusting idiot who only wanted to believe there was good in people. There isn’t. Not the people who killed my father when they planted that bomb. Not Dylan when he lied and cheated. And not Bach when he promised I’d be first.

Carolyn frowns at me when I don’t go for her bait. She drops her hand and continues to eat.

After I’m done eating I excuse myself and leave the table. What I really want to do is destroy it. Knock the dishes down, scar the wood, and step on the things that manage to escape my wrath. Maybe then I’ll feel better. I throw on my bathing suit and go take my anger out on the pool. I refuse to remember Bach when he was back here. I won’t think about how beautiful he was playing with Carolyn’s kids. How much I wanted him in that moment. It was like seeing a Bach I never knew existed. He was happy and patient, doing everything he could to make them happy. I can’t have him. He never wanted me.

He isn’t lying.

Thinking about all of times I threw myself at him makes me sick to my stomach. He wasn’t turning me down because he was trying to be a good guy. He turned me down because he didn’t want me. I swim harder, forgetting his lips, his eyes, and his hands on my body. I sucked his dick. His dick! And the bastard let me. Let me knowing he wanted nothing to do with me. I want to cut my tongue out. Forget the feel of his thickness, his heat, and his moans. They were lies.

I push my arms and legs, diving under the water. Was this a game to them both? When Dylan asked Bach to watch out for me was he doing it knowing I’d bite? I can envision them laughing, sharing texts about how pathetic I am. Anger, hot and unflinching, burns in my chest. I want to make them both pay.

As the sun dips in the sky that night its heat doesn’t leave me. There is a burning in my soul now. Every time I think of Dylan or Bach it sears. When I think of them together it blisters. When I think of cutting their dicks off it rejoices. They’re lying, unfaithful excuses of men and I can’t believe I fell for both of them. But it was so hard not to. Dylan pulled me out of my depression and Bach saved me from the one Dylan left behind. How could the time Bach and I shared be a lie after I swore it was the only truth around?

“Do you really have to leave?” Mom begs the next afternoon, following me out to the taxi I called.

“Yes, Mom. I have things to do at home.”

“Like what?”

“Boring college stuff.”

“Can’t you do them here?” She grabs my arm, stopping me from putting my stuff in the back of the taxi. “I don’t understand why you keep leaving me.”

I sigh.
Great, keep piling on the guilt.
“I’m not leaving you. I’m going home. That’s all. I’ll be back in a couple weeks. I promise.”

If I stay here any longer I’m going to explode. Everyone’s eyes are daring me to tell the truth. But I’m not telling anyone the truth when even I can’t handle it.

“Two weeks.” She smiles, pleased, and wraps her arms around me. “You need cab money?”

“No thank you. I got it. I’ll call as soon as I get home.”

“You’d better. And tell Bach I said it was a pleasure having him. He left so fast I didn’t get a chance to tell him how good his steaks were.”

I grind my teeth together.
A pleasure? Were we at the same lunch?
“I’ll tell him.”

“You two okay? You’ve been a raging bitch these past few days and he’s MIA. Anything happen that I should know about?”

My laugh rushes out of me in surprise. “I’m sorry. I promise. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at … other things. Bach and I are fine. He just had to get home.”

“Hmm,” she mutters.

I don’t even know why I still bother trying to lie. She sees inside of my brain as if it’s translucent. I lean over and kiss her cheek. “I gotta go.”

“You know,” she says, not letting me leave quite yet. “Sometimes the ones that make us hurt make us hurt because we let them. Sometimes they make us hurt because we can’t stop them. And other times they make us hurt because we want them to.” Then she turns on her heel and heads for the front door, as if everything I ever needed to know existed within that cryptic mom message.

I stare after her with a frown. “Thanks, I guess.”

I grumble expletives under my breath as soon as the cab door closes after me. The drive back to Crystal Gulf doesn’t comfort me. I have a feeling nothing will for a long time. It isn’t even because of Bach. Or his lying, cheating, evil best friend. But they damn sure didn’t help. This feeling of anger and resentment will grow before it lessens. When I get dropped off at my apartment I walk numbly up the stairs and wait until the door closes to let it out. I’m safe here. In my apartment I am the girl Dylan betrayed and the girl Bach didn’t want. When I leave here I’m the girl they never should have messed with.

She’s scary.

I try to ignore the aftermath of Bach, but he’s still in my apartment. The smell of his puke still clings to the air. His sweat and moans are still in my sheets. I rip my bedding off and march it down to the laundry room. Then I grab a bottle of air freshener and spray my apartment, opening the windows so it can air out. When he’s finally gone I don’t feel better. I should. Once again this is my chance. He gave it to me on a silver platter. I can leave Dylan and Bach behind for good this time. Move on, figure out where I’m going, and just go there already.

But then they’d never know what they did to me. They’d never understand that you can’t go around screwing with people’s emotions, with their hearts. Hearts break. I want their hearts to break, want them both to have fissures so wide they oozed, got infected, and never healed.

It looks like the new Harley was back. She paces her apartment, a lioness caught in a cage. Her teeth want to taste flesh and her claws want blood.

Before I lose myself completely I call my mom to let her know I got home safely. She tries to persuade me to come back home but I quickly belt out a lame excuse about laundry. When she attempts to remind me how frail Grams is I remind her I’d seen Grams playing hopscotch with Stacey this morning. Then I hung up, because there was a reason Dad never won an argument.

As I’m passing by the bathroom door something catches my eyes. Bach’s clothes are still on the bathroom floor. I sigh sadly staring at them. How could that man have been lying? He came to my apartment, whispered my name in his sleep, and fell apart in my arms. How could all of that mean nothing to him? As I reach for his jeans I wonder if there’s a slight chance he might actually be lying. Why would he run from me when I only wanted him to come to me first? He could be lying.
Or
, I think bitterly,
you’re just a pathetic whore and he used you like he used every girl before you, how he’ll use the ones after.

When I snatch his puke covered jeans up something falls out of his pocket. A couple twenties folded together. I stuff those in my pocket. He’s not getting it back this time. He’s also not getting back the orange pills. I put those in my other pocket. Then I take all of his clothes and put them in my hamper. I want them. I’m not going to explain myself to New Harley. She doesn’t know everything.

I march his clothes and some of mine down to the laundry room and switch over loads.

“You almost done?”

I look up at a hottie. Washboard abs, wavy ash blond hair, and sky blue eyes. I immediately wish his eyes were sea green, that his hair was brown and sexy, and that his abs were normal. Bach’s abs are normal. This guy worked out to work out. New Harley smacks me in the back of my head. She forces me to rise, smile flirtatiously, and grin. “No, I just started.”

Don’t be yourself,
she orders.
Not unless you want a few more holes in your heart
.

He smiles back cockily, leaning against the washer. “How long are you going to be?” His eyes slide over my body. He starts with my face, staying a long time on my eyes the way Bach does. I like that part. Then he goes down to my breasts, my stomach, and then my legs. He likes my legs the most. Bach liked my ass. I’m slightly disappointed. When his eyes return to mine he is unashamed of his assessment.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask. I can’t help myself. “Do I pass inspection?”

He laughs. “You pass.”

Jerk. “I’m so pleased.” New Harley controls my tongue. “I just started here. If you leave your clothes here I’ll put them in for you.”

“How nice of you. What if I leave my number too? You can call me when you do.”

I’m sure that’s what he wants me to have his number for. Laundry. I was Laundry Harley. Boring Harley. New Harley begs to be set free. To show him he couldn’t possibly handle me. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“Dean!” someone shouts.

He rolls his eyes. “In here,” he shouts back.

“Busted,” I mumble, bending over to shove the last of my Bach free bedding into the dryer.

Men lie. They are liars.

“She’s just some bitch I met last night at a party. We can still talk.”

I glance at him in shock. “You mean so I can be the bitch you met at the laundry room? No thanks, dickhead.”

The bitch he met at the party comes into the laundry room. When she spots me her eyes widen and when I put her face with the smell of cheap flowers and sugar so do mine.

“Harley?”

“Hey,” I respond. I don’t know what else to say. We’re both side effects of Bach.

“You two know each other?” Dickhead wonders, backing away from me like I’m diseased.

“Why?” Justine growls. “Will it make it harder to fuck her and me if we tell each other how small your dick is afterward?”

“Is it that small?” I wonder.

She grins at me. I can’t stand how pretty she is. Her dark eyes, dark hair, and her entire face remind me that Bach thought the same thing. She exudes sexiness and confidence. Even wearing a pair of Dickhead’s boxers and a tank top, her hair messy, she still looks gorgeous.

She holds her hands up, leaving a few inches between her thumb and index finger. “That small.”

Dickhead scowls at her. “Maybe I’m not small. Maybe you’re pussy is too loose.”

She doesn’t even miss a beat. She touches herself and gives him a heated look. “This pussy made you cum like a little bitch. You were begging for it.”

He shakes his head at her. “You’re the only bitch in the room.”

Whatever happened to sensible conversations?
How’s the weather? What’s for dinner? Can you pass the salt?
I turn back to my laundry and pour some detergent in the washer over Bach’s clothes. I try not to remember taking them off him. It’s not a happy memory. But then again he didn’t leave me with any. They’re all tainted in sex and alcohol.

As the two of them continue to argue about the elasticity of her vagina and his lack of phallus girth, I grab my empty laundry basket and hop on the folding table to watch. By the looks of it Justine’s winning. I wish I had some popcorn.

When Dickhead stomps out of the room the winner rejoices. “What an asshole,” she grumbles, turning to look at me. “You live in this complex?”

“Mhm.”

“You mind letting me borrow some clothes? I have a feeling mine are going to end up in the pool. Good thing I left my purse at Dylan’s.”

“How’s Bach?” I can’t help myself. I don’t even know why I keep trying.

A knowing look fills her dark eyes. “How should I know?”

“I thought you would.”

“I haven’t seen him in a few days.” She puts her hand on her hip. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” I admit, swinging my legs. A few days was a lifetime in Bach years. Although I do wonder if he isn’t with Justine who else is he with? What other girl came first?

“Can we go get some clothes now?”

I hop down and leave the laundry room with her following me.

“Why are you asking me how he is? He’s been up your ass for a month.”

I glance back at her, gauging her expression. “He was only doing it for Dylan. Apparently I’m a pathetic gullible idiot and he was supposed to watch out for me.”

“Is that want he told you?” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“What did he tell you?”

“Bach doesn’t tell me anything unless it has to do with his dick. Sorry,” she hurries, seeing the rage on my face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

How does she want me to look at her? Does her vagina ever get a break? I walk faster to my apartment. Her bare feet follow. When I get inside I go straight to my room and open my drawer. She plops down on my bare mattress. “You want something comfortable or jeans?”

“Comfortable.” I toss a pair of gray velour sweats and a plain white T-shirt at her. She catches it and appraises them. “These are expensive.”

“I bought them on sale.” I didn’t. Mom bought them for me when she was at the mall. I don’t know why I feel uncomfortable admitting it to her though.

She nods, as if this makes her feel better. “I’m not giving them back by the way. So don’t kick my ass for them later.”

Like I would want them back. “I’ll leave you alone to change.”

“Can I take a shower? My old man’s not leaving until tomorrow and I’d rather make out with you than go back home right now.”

“Making out with me is the deal breaker?”

She laughs, not taking it back.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” I have to remind myself that these are Bach’s friends. They make Len look chaste. “I’ll get you a towel.”

She jumps up and finds the bathroom all on her own. When I hear the water turn on I bring a towel in and set it on the counter. What’s next? Are we going to compare blow job techniques? Something tells me hers will win. I go to my kitchen to get something to eat. As I’m slathering a slice of bread with peanut butter I hear her singing. The door is cracked and her beautiful voice seeps out with the steam. I sing along with the pop song, knowing that my voice makes hers sound even better. The girl can sing.