The weeks after Claire have been a blur of classes, partying, and very generous amounts of female company. Especially these last few weeks of the spring quarter, with finals looming over the entire campus. Stress has been high and feeling good has been in even higher demand.
All just distractions, I know. My days are a chain of well-timed distractions. It's all I know right now, because nothing holds my attention the way it used to. I've been keeping busy to outpace the cloud of blandness that seems two steps behind me. I can't think of any other time I can be completely in the moment than when I have a gorgeous girl writhing beneath me and crooning in my ear. Even before, when I was content with just one girl, I kept busy the same way. Claire knew that my time inside her was a way to avoid glimpsing the inside of my own head. She knew it and she didn't like it. I'm sure she used that fact to justify what she did.
You don't talk to me, she kept saying, you're so distant.
She wasn't lying, I couldn't quite figure out how to tell her what was on my mind, things that had nothing to do with her. Things I've never said aloud to anyone.
You can trust me, she'd say. A lie that became blatantly obvious when I walked in to the sight of her straddling my best friend right in our living room.
Surprise, my class was cancelled.
We'd only been exclusive for a few months, but seeing those two going at it fucked me up badly. I'm not sure what stung the worst. That she messed around on me, or that she picked someone I'd been close to since high school. Man, it hit home hard that Kyle would even touch my girl. I trusted him. I used to look at him like a brother. But a brother wouldn't fuck your girlfriend.
Goes to show that loyalty is an illusion, an elusive trait on borrowed time, waiting to dissolve. Things that once felt certain now have a sharper light on them, revealing crevices where the unknown can hide. In one clean swoop, I lost the two people I thought I was closest to. Not the first time that's happened but it will be the last.
The thought tastes bitter so I wash it down with a mouthful of my beer.
"Don't tell me you're still hung up on that bitch," Luke says.
"Huh?"
"Your face, man. It tells a sad story. I'm waiting for the single tear to roll down your cheek."
"Fuck off."
"Then get it together. You haven't even looked at that sweet thing at the end of the bar. She keeps checking you out."
I glance in the direction he's indicating. Sure enough, there's a redhead with stick straight hair. Her dress is skintight but she looks pained in it. Uncomfortable. Stiff. When we lock eyes, she smiles shyly before glancing down and looking up again.
"No," I say to Luke. "I don't like that innocent vibe she's got going on."
"You can't be serious."
I shrug.
"You're wrong," Luke argues. "There is nothing innocent about that one."
Luke's terrible at reading women. She's not the one-night-stand type. That's a light flirting, kiss on the cheek, 'here's my number for later' sort of girl. The type of girl that should stay the hell away from me. And from him.
Luke drains his beer and stands up. "You can sit here and make excuses for your wallowing. I'm going to bring this chick home and find out if that hair color is natural."
I raise my glass to him in a toast. Redhead looks like a deer caught in headlights when she realizes Luke is walking up to talk to her. She glances over her shoulders then back in my direction just as Luke leans in to say something to her. She smiles a little, visibly nervous, and says something in response.
I'm not sure where my motivation went. My plan for tonight was to find a sexy little thing to take home--not my house, hers. I don't bring women to my bed. It's my safe haven, drama free, and with no awkward morning-after encounters. I'd like to think women feel more in control in their homes, anyway. And when they're more comfortable it just facilitates everything we can do together.
Already bored watching Luke and the redhead, I refocus my attention on the glass in my hands just as thin fingers pry it from my grip.
"You might want to take it easy there, cowboy," Ava says, refilling my glass with a pitcher of beer. She's being sarcastic. I've been drinking that same beer for the past two hours.
"I'm done after this," I say. "Let me get the check when you get a chance."
"That reminds me..." She digs into her apron pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, setting it down on the table. "What the hell is this?"
I don't look at it because I already know what it is. The check I wrote out this morning and stuck under her door. "It's my rent check."
"Except it's made out for the wrong amount."
"I would say if I had an idiot tenant who willingly overpaid for rent, I wouldn't chastise them about it."
"Cut the crap, Giles. I know what you're doing. I don't want your handouts. Just pay your portion of the rent and that's it."
I match her determined glare. When Ava offered for me to move into her house, I didn't think twice about it. We'd always been close, more like siblings than cousins. I thought I'd get to see her more often, but nights like this, when I come to have dinner at the restaurant where she works, are the only times I get to see my cousin lately. She works like a maniac and sometimes it makes me feel guilty that I don't work half as much as she does.
"It's not my money," I remind her. "And he would've wanted you to have it. Or do you forget she's not just your mom, she's his sister, too. And my aunt."
She looks down and I know she realizes that bringing up my dad isn't something I do lightly.
"I'm managing just fine taking care of her on my own," she says.
"But why just manage when family is willing to help?"
She doesn't answer right away. I know part of the answer is that our parents didn't always have the best relationship. In truth, Ava's parents didn't get along with most people, including each other. They have always been difficult and immature, in more ways than one. Yet, she's always loved them more than anything else in the world. Growing up mediating between them is what cultivated her tendency to smooth over or mislead on details, just out of a desire to keep things civil between the people around her. I don't even think she realizes she does it. It's like a defense mechanism when she predicts trouble.
But that's what worries me about her. That she could be drowning right in front of me and I wouldn't know, because I wouldn't have the right information to gauge from.
"That insurance money isn't a fortune, Giles. Your father wanted your education expenses paid for so you could focus on school and internships and not get sucked into a dead-end job. If you think I'm taking a penny more than your share of the rent, you really are an idiot."
Tension shoots up my temples and I realize I'm grinding my teeth. It's not that she called me an idiot, that's almost a pet name coming from her. It's her reminder of my father's expectations.