After You (Because of You 2)

“No, I’m a good influence. I live my life to the fullest and you should, too. Screw settling for the boring lawyer and never having good sex again. Quit playing it safe, sweetie. You’re going to wake up one day and be old. Is this the life you want to remember?”

That makes me sad. Is this the life I want to remember? No, the life I wanted to remember already slipped away a long time ago. I don’t want to get drunk off my ass and have sex with random strangers, I want to rewind to 18, stop Derek from ruining both our lives, make him be mine, and unpause. I don’t care if it means growing up too fast. I want struggling through college together, both of us working too hard and sleeping too little, I want Chinese food for dinner while we study, and at the end of every stressful day, I want him in bed beside me. I want his kisses on my lips, his hands pinning my wrists over my head, him moving inside me.

But I want all of that with no trace of Kayla, and that’s impossible now. He ruined everything, and there’s no fixing it.

I am no longer paying attention to what is happening with the bartender, but I have lost all interest in him. I wander away by myself, looking at the families seated at tables as I pass. That’s the wrong thing to look at. Suddenly tears are clogging my throat, and I want to collapse. The sadness hits me now. The regret. The pain. Oh, I forgot alcohol only numbed things temporarily, then it’s a flood of emotions. Then it’s the worst.

I need to find Henry and get my drink. My water. I need water. Only before I can, a cute little blonde girl with blue eyes jumps out in front of me.

“Boo!” she says, trying to scare me.

My shoulders sag, my mouth turning down. “You are adorable.”

Her mom grabs her, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, she’s adorable. You’re so lucky,” I murmur, walking away.

Everything is terrible and I want to die.

I need to get away from everybody. There are too many people and I need to cry, but I’m struggling to see straight. That last shot was a bad idea. I have consumed so much alcohol in under an hour, I might die from alcohol poisoning.

I walk toward the doors, thinking to get outside and get some air. I make it to the quiet corridor outside the reception room, but that’s as far as I can get without breaking down. Today was too much. I’m only human. I’m not superwoman. I can only handle so fucking much.

Leaning back against the wall, I sink down and draw my knees up to my chest, burying my face in my hands and trying to stop my head from spinning. So many cruel memories are assaulting me right now, escaping the prisons I keep them locked away in.

Someone touches my knee, but I don’t have the energy to look up. I don’t want to know who it is. “Leave me alone,” I say, my voice muffled.

“No.”

My heart stalls and I look up at Derek, squatting down in front of me.

“Stand up,” he says.

Now it’s my turn to say, “No.”

“Now,” he says, more firmly. “It wasn’t a request.”

I want to tell him to fuck off, but before I can, his big, strong hands move under my arms and he picks me up off the ground. “I don’t want to talk to you,” I tell him, pushing his hands away. “Talking to you makes me sad.”

“We’re not going to talk,” he says calmly, almost conciliatory. “I’m just gonna take you for a little ride. Okay? No talking. We’ll just be together in silence.”

Mm, that sounds nice. Now he has his arm around my waist, and he’s leading down the hall, away from the reception. He’s so strong. God, I missed his body. It’s even better now than it was. “Okay,” I murmur, leaning my head on his shoulder, too tired to hold it up myself. “Not too long though. I have to be back for Bethany and Alex’s first dance.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arm around me and my head on his shoulder. It’s like a fantasy, so I don’t complain.

I start to giggle when he stops outside a big, black Chevy Silverado, unlocks the door and eases it open. “Step up.”

“Of course you have a giant truck,” I tell him.

“It’s for work,” he tells me.

“You know what they say about big trucks?” I ask, shooting him a teasing look. “Tiny dick.”

Derek laughs lightly, kind enough not to comment on me criticizing him when I can’t even keep my shit together at cocktail hour. Carefully moving my leg into the car so he doesn’t shut the door on it, he tells me, “You know what I’m working with. I don’t have a big truck to compensate for a tiny dick. I have a big truck because I have to haul heavy shit for work, and I need the big bed in the back to do that. Watch your feet,” he says, before slamming the door shut.

When he climbs in and starts it up, I lean my head on the seat, looking over in his direction. “What do you do now? Not still at Burger King, I take it?”

“Hell no,” he says, checking his rearview mirror as he backs out. “I work construction.”