I fucking need him. His presence, his happiness, his warmth.
I fucked up—royally—and I need to make it right. I can’t lose him. He’s the one part of my life worth fighting for. Worth living for. Dragging myself out of bed, I cross the room with long strides, grabbing the plastic baggie out of my drawer. Dropping three pearly white pills into my palm, I toss them back, filling my mouth with the water that’s sitting on my dresser. They slide down my throat easily.
Reaching into my pants pocket, I grab my phone, trying Anderson one more time. If he doesn’t answer, I’m going over there. The silence is done. It’s easy enough finding his contact, since he’s the only person I’ve called or texted since he walked out the door. He probably has easily over a hundred missed calls from me.
The phone rings four times before going to voicemail.“Hey, it’s Anderson. Leave a message and I’ll call ya back.”
It beeps, grating my nerves. “Anderson, this is getting fucking ridiculous. I know you see me trying to call you. I know you’ve read all my texts. Your read receipts are on. We need to fucking talk about this. It’s been three fucking days of you ignoring me and I can’t fucking do this anymore. Talk to me. Please. Fuck!”
After ending the call, I slam it down on my dresser so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter the screen. He doesn’t want to take my call? That’s fucking fine. I’ll track him down.
He has until the end of my shower to call me back, otherwise he’s getting a fucking house call. Wasting no time, I strip, throwing my clothes in the hamper before trudging into the bathroom and starting the shower. Steam fills the room almost immediately, and when I step under the spray, it’s so hot, it almost stings.
Washing my hair and my body in what has to be the quickest shower, I jump out and get dressed. My slides are by the front door, so once I grab my wallet and phone, I jog down the stairs, slipping on the shoes and heading out the front door.
It’s the middle of the work week, but it’s also mid-day, so traffic from Camano Island to Bellingham isn’t terrible. Forty-five minutes later, my car is coming to a stop outside his house. Aston’s car isn’t here, neither are his parents’.
Good. We can hash this shit out without the world hearing.
Ringing the doorbell, my hands shake. He has to forgive me. There’s no other option. I will do whatever I have to do to make him forgive me. No one answers, so I ring it again, pounding on the door also, for good measure.
After what feels like ages, the door swings open, and Anderson appears in front of me. He looks like shit. Hot shit, obviously, but shit nonetheless. The dark circles under his eyes and his ratty clothes tell me he’s gotten about as much sleep as I have.
That’s what you get for ignoring me, fucker.
His body stiffens as soon as his eyes find mine, and he rakes a hand down his face. My eyes immediately find his red, bruised knuckles, and the image of him pummeling Kalen comes to the forefront of my mind.
“What are you doing here, Crew?” His tone is bored, like he’d rather be doing anything else other than standing here, dealing with me. It stings.
“Making sure you’re not fucking dead, Anderson,” I spit out, throwing his words from the other day back at him.
“Clearly, I didn’t want to talk. Take a hint and go back to your boyfriend,” he responds, spitting my own words back at me.Touche.
“Fuck off, Anderson. He isn’t my fucking boyfriend. Let me in and quit behaving like a child.” I shove past him, not allowing him the chance to shut the door in my face. We’re doing this whether he likes it or not.
I turn to face him as he shuts the door. “Are we doing this down here or in your room?”
He shoots daggers at me through his gaze, his lips in a thin line. “Fuck.Whatever. In my fucking room, I guess.” As he motions with his hand for me to go up the stairs, his face doesn’t soften at all.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I can’t help the small smirk on my face. He didn’t throw me out… that’s progress, right? Tiny victories. When we enter his room, my feet automatically take me to his bed, thinking he’s doing the same. My face falls when I sit down and notice him taking a seat at his desk. Across the room.
I’ll get you within touching distance soon enough, Anderson.
We enter into an intense, unspoken stare-down with one another. His bored expression is ironclad, not a single emotion given away. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his legs are crossed at the ankles.
It’s a punch to the fucking chest, having that look directed at me.
“Why’re you ignoring my calls?”
His laugh is harsh and laced with indignation. “You can’t be serious, Crew.”
“I am fucking serious. Why?”
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? You were the one to ignore mefirst, Crew. You freaked out, assumed the worst, and ignored my calls and texts for two fucking days. You didn’t even communicate with me, didn’t give me a single fucking chance to tell you that I ended shit with Calina.For you, might I add. Then, when I finally got sick of being ignored, I showed up at your house, where you hadanother fucking mannaked in your bed. And if that wasn’t reason enough, you also admitted to getting your fucking dick sucked by him, and he wakes up and practically rubs the fact in my fucking face. So, tell me, Crew. Why on earth would I be ignoring you?”
“Well, when you put it like that—wait—did you say you broke up with Calina?”
“Yeah, Crew. I did. And if you would’ve acted like a grownup and answered my calls, you would’ve known that. Instead, you went and did God knows what with fucking Kalen Finnegan.”