I can’t deal by going back. I want to deal by going back.
I can’t. I want. I won’t. I want.
Like enemies in tug of war, the two sides of me pull, they yank, they jerk.
I close my eyes, trying to push away the flashing images of my messages, of Cam, of going back, back, back. They’re like bumper cars knocking, clanging.
I flip over and bang my fist into the pillow.
I can’t believe I did that to Trey. I can’t believe I jumped him like that when I know he wants to be good. When he’s trying so hard to heal. He’s not like me. He’s better, he’s healthier, he’s closer to moving on.
Trey doesn’t want to be a recidivist. He doesn’t want to slide back into the old skin.
And I was the call girl. The temptress. The little vixen school girl who uses charms and wiles to get what she wants.
I smash my hand once more into the pillow.
That’s who I am though. Why fight it. Why fight Layla?
I grab my phone, open my messages, read it again.
Missing things? Missing me? That can be fixed in an instant, sweetheart. Tomorrow night. Bliss Bar. 7 p.m. Be there.
I run my finger across the note, gasping for breath. My mind is drowning in a sea, crashing upside down under the waves. I let them carry me, toss me back into the waters. Before I even think about it for more than a fleeting second — because I don’t think at times like this, I act, I do, I operate on impulse — I reply.
Can’t wait.
Trey
The second I flop down onto my Michele’s couch, I blurt it out. “We fooled around last night.”
She doesn’t raise an eyebrow or give me a haughty look. She simply waits for me to say more. Her dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and she’s decked out in standard shrink garb. Gray pants, a white blouse, pearl earrings. I don’t know much about her. It’s not as if we talk about her or her family or why she became a shrink. All I know is she specializes in this kind of stuff. In my kind of problem. She was on the list of recommended shrinks from SLAA.
I heave a sigh. “It was at the coffee shop. We went into the back, and one thing led to another.”
“Stop right there.” She holds up her hand, then points her index finger. “That’s not how the world works. One thing doesn’t lead to another. There are actions and choices. Now, you know I don’t judge you for any of them. But by the same token, if you want to have an honest discussion here, let’s not say one thing led to another. Take responsibility for your actions, Trey.”
I narrow my eyes. “Fine. She kissed me. I kissed her back,” I say in a huff. “Okay? That better?”
She nods. “And how do you feel about it?”
“I f**king want her like crazy.” I roll my eyes, pushing my hands in my hair. “Like that’s a surprise? But it will never happen.”
“Why? And what is it? Is it sex you want? Or a relationship with Harley?”
“She doesn’t want either.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe since you said she kissed you. But that’s not what I asked. I want to know what you want with her. Sex or a relationship?”
“It doesn’t matter. Neither will happen.”
“Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe you’re not ready for a relationship.”
“Obviously,” I say sarcastically. I hold my hands out wide, stretching across her beige couch. The window is open slightly, and the horns and the honking of midtown traffic bleat in the distance. “Not as if I know how to have one. Not as if I know anything.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is maybe other things should come first with her.”
“Like?”
“Like working on being honest with her. Practicing honesty.”
“I’m not dishonest.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“I know,” she says calmly. “But you also know you could take your friendship a step further. And it will be good for your healing if you tell her about your family.”
My heart skitters at the thought. I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“You can. You want her to know you, right?”
“I don’t even know how to say it.”
“You just say it. That’s how you say something that’s hard. You put one foot in front of the other. You take it step by step. You say the words. There is no magic formula. There is no secret sauce. But there are words,” she says emphatically, as if she’s delivering an impassioned speech. As if she’s saying something that matters deeply to her. “And words are all we have. That’s all there really is between people. At the end of the day, we have our actions, and we have our words. And you simply say them.”
I try them on for size, as if I’m talking about what I did today. Casual, cool, offhand, like we’re walking to the subway and I’m making a random observation. “Oh hey, Harley. I thought you should know. One night when I was fifteen, my brother –“ but I choke on the rest of the words.
Chapter Eight
Harley
I touch up my makeup, outline my lips and apply Cam’s favorite color lipstick, then some shimmery gloss. I press my lips together, smacking them lightly, and appraise my appearance. He’ll be pleased, but he’s always been pleased. Fact is, I’m pleased. I like the way I look. My faux school uniform is like a power suit, my armor, a super hero’s costume that makes me feel on top of the world. Short skirt, white blouse, knee-highs and Mary Janes. When I wear this, I make the rules. My phone buzzes as I open my bedroom door. Trey’s calling. I’m supposed to go to the meeting with him.