chapter seven
Knox
“Knox!”
“What?”
Hearing footsteps in the hall, I look up and see Weston waltzing into my room. “You about ready to go, man?”
“Yup, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Cool, I think Branson and Luca are almost ready too,” he states, as he heads back out to the living room. I swear that fucker is early to everything. He’s been ready to go for the last hour.
Branson and Luca got home yesterday afternoon, and we quickly learned that they’re an item now. It was surprising to find that out, but if I’m being honest with myself, now I can kind of see the signs there. They both got extremely close—closer than they had ever been—since Luca started school.
I’m happy for them, I guess. I’ve never known Branson to be in a relationship, since he’s always been as noncommittal as they come, but whatever floats their boats.
My plan for the night is to get as drunk as possible and forget my own name. I’m fucking over life, and this week can kiss my ass. I shouldn’t have smoked with Aston on Wednesday and Thursday. I think deep in the back of my mind I knew it was a bad idea the whole time, but did it anyway, because it felt good to relax and take my mind off shit.
Any chance he gets to be an arrogant prick, he takes it, and it seems like smoking with him upped his desire to make my life hell. I probably made shit worse when I asked him all those fucking questions afterward. Making it seem like I actually give a shit about him… which I clearly do not. Suffering through class with him yesterday was my last straw. He’s always so cocky, cracking jokes, winking at me, and it’s fucking annoying. I better not see him tonight, or shit will probably get ugly.
I don’t think I’ll ever know why he gets so much enjoyment out of my distaste for him, but it’s fucking childish at this point. He’s a literal man-child. No matter how nice it is to smoke and relax, I won’t be doing that with him again.
Fuck him.
As I finish tying my black combat boots and throwing on a jacket, I leave the room and head toward the kitchen, where I can hear everyone. Schooling my features, I put my fun guy persona on before I walk in. Can’t let anyone know you’re dying inside.
“What’s up, fuckers!” I say, throwing my hands in the air with a fake as hell smile on my face.
“About time you’re ready, bro,” Weston grumbles. “I swear you take longer to get ready than a girl.”
“Shut the fuck up, man. Pour us some shots,” I say with a laugh.
While Weston pours four shots of tequila, I grab the lime we cut up earlier. We collectively lick our hands, pour the salt on, and pick up our shot glasses.
Branson is our resident toaster, he always has been, so it’s no surprise when he clears his throat dramatically and raises his shot glass. “To your genitalia: May they never fail ya or jail ya. Cheers!”
Licking the salt off my hand, I down the shot, sucking the lime into my mouth. The burn warming my esophagus and stomach is exactly what I need, tenfold.
I set my shot glass in the sink and turn around, heading toward the door. “Alright, bitches, let’s hit the road.”
The walk to the frat house only takes about ten minutes, but I’m freezing cold by the time we arrive. It’s like thirty degrees outside. We should’ve taken an Uber.
The house is pretty full as we walk in, with it being about ten o’clock already. Do Re Mi by Blackbear is blaring through the speakers, a game of beer pong is happening in the dining room area to my right, and a makeshift dance floor has been formed in the living room to my left.
With one goal in mind, I beeline to the kitchen in search of something strong. The guys don’t follow me, heading off to do their own thing, which is fine with me. The kitchen is packed, so I slide in and grab a bottle of vodka off the counter, making my way out the back door.
I’ve been to this frat house dozens of times over the last few years, which is how I know there is a little table and chairs on the back deck off to the right. Silently celebrating that it’s currently empty, I set the bottle on the table, pulling out my pack of cigarettes before sitting down. Lighting up, I inhale deeply, feeling the smoke fill my lungs. Then I twist the cap off the vodka and take a swig, wincing at the taste before swallowing in one go.
Taking another large pull before hitting the cigarette again, I rest my head on the back of the chair and close my eyes. Hate Me by Ellie Goulding and Juice WRLD is playing now, and it’s loud enough that I can hear the lyrics perfectly from where I’m at.
I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’m not in the right headspace to be around people, and I could have gotten drunk at home instead. My head has been all kinds of fucked up this past week and it only seems to be getting worse. Feelings I haven’t felt since high school seem to be making their way back into my brain.
Wanting desperately to escape, I bring the bottle up to my lips once more, swallowing two substantial mouthfuls of the disgusting, plain vodka. My eyes water with the fiery burn traveling down my throat. Putting the cigarette in between my lips and inhaling, I leave it there while I roll up my left jacket sleeve.
Taking a look around to make sure no one is nearby, I remove the cigarette from my lips, and without a second thought, put it out on my inner forearm, up by my elbow, gritting my teeth.
I haven’t done this since before college, but the physical pain always brings me relief from the turmoil swimming around in my head. It’s like your brain can only focus on one area of torment at a time, and the burning flesh seems to take precedence over my twisted thoughts.
As I stare at the angry burn, my head is silenced, and it’s like I can breathe for the first time in over a week. Feeling thankful that I wore a black jacket, I pull my sleeve down, taking one last swig of the vodka, before screwing the cap back on and heading back inside.
The second I stand up, the alcohol running through my veins makes itself known, and I stumble a bit before righting myself. Walking through the backdoor, I take note of how many more people have shown up. The house is packed wall to wall with drunk college kids.
Making my way through the crowd, I head toward the closest bathroom, shutting and locking the door once I get inside. I look through the drawers, pulling out the first aid kit I knew I’d find, then apply some burn cream before putting on a band aid, and wash my hands once I’m done.
Taking one last glance at the glassy-eyed mess before me, I unlock the door and make my way back out to the kitchen. About halfway there, I run into someone, realizing I wasn’t paying a lick of attention to anything going on around me.
Hands come up to my shoulders to steady me. “Hey, bro, you good?”
Aston.
“I’d be a lot fucking better, bro, if you learned to watch where the fuck you were going,” I spit out.
“Whoa, Finny.” He puts his hands up, feigning innocence. “You ran into me, my dude. Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”
“Fuck you, Walker. How many goddamn times have I told you to fucking stop with the nickname?”
He laughs, and the sound grates on me like nails on a chalkboard. I see red.
Grabbing his shirt with my fists, I throw him against the wall, moving my forearm to press into his throat. “You have a real fucking problem with listening, Walker, and I think someone needs to teach you a fucking lesson.”
He doesn’t say a single thing, just smirks obnoxiously, and I fucking snap. Removing my arm from his neck, my fist collides with his jaw in a brutal blow. His head whips to the side before he brings his gaze back to me, and I finally see real anger flashing back at me.
He shoves me harshly, and I stumble back and almost lose my balance. Before he can lay any hits on me, people swarm us. Anderson places himself between us, facing his brother, with Branson doing the same, but facing me.
“What the fuck was that, Knox?” he growls.
“He fucking deserved it, Branson. Get the fuck off me.”
“Go home, bro. You’ve had enough.”
“Fuck off, dude.”
“I mean it, Knox. You’ve done enough. Leave. Sleep it off.”
As I’m about to argue back at him, a feminine voice breaks through the crowd. “I’ll take him.”
Turning around to see who said that, I spot the coffee chick.
What is her fucking name again?
Carly? No, that doesn’t sound right.
Katherine? No, too long.
“Katie!” I shout.
“Uh, yeah.”
“You don’t have to do that, Katie. He’s really fucking drunk and will probably be difficult,” Branson says, stepping in front of me, as if shielding Katie from me.
I’m not a fucking monster. Jesus.
“No, it’s fine. Really. My dad’s an alcoholic, so I have plenty of experience wrangling drunk men. I’ll make sure he gets home safely. I was planning to head out anyways.”
“You’re sure?”
I roll my eyes, pissed off by this entire situation. “Can both of you stop talking about me like I’m not right fucking here?”
“I’m positive.” She smiles in that friendly, warm way she does. “Want to walk home with me, Knox?”
Looking blankly between her and Branson, I realize I’m not getting out of this.
“Fuck, I guess. Lead the way.”
Before I can get away, Branson grabs my arm, looking me dead in the face. “Be nice to her, Knox. I fucking mean it.”
Simply rolling my eyes, I walk to catch up with Caretaker Katie. “Fuck, wait up. I wasn’t aware we were jogging the whole way to my house.”
Giggling, she reaches her hand out and takes mine, pulling me up to her. “Come on.”
So with that, we begin our walk home, hand in hand. It’s such a nice, easy gesture, and it doesn’t feel romantic at all. It feels comfortable.
We make it back to the house in about fifteen minutes, only stopping once so I could take a piss. My bladder felt like it was going to explode.
After struggling with the key, I finally get the front door open and we make our way inside.
“Where is your room?” Katie asks, looking at me curiously.
“It’s down the hall. You don’t have to stay, though. I’ll probably pass out right away.”
“It’s okay.” She smiles. “I want to make sure you’re settled before I go. Why don’t you go get ready for bed, and I’ll go get you some water from the kitchen?”
Doing as she says, I make my way into my room, stripping down to my briefs the minute I get inside. In the back of my mind, I know I should probably practice a little more modesty for her sake, but fuck it.
Clearing her throat, I turn around and see her cheeks flaming red and it’s pretty damn cute. I’m not used to shy girls.
“Uh, here you go.” She hands me a bottle of water and two Tylenol. “You should take those and drink that whole bottle before you go to bed. Save you from a gnarly hangover in the morning.”
Again, with the sweet, friendly smile.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask after I take the Tylenol and chug half the bottle.
“Because we all need a little help and kindness from time to time. I can see you need that.”
“Yeah, but we don’t even know each other.”
“We could. Just shut up and let me help you.” She giggles and blushes further.
“Okay, bossy.”
She rolls her eyes at me dramatically. “Here, get in bed.”
Once in bed, she tucks me in like I’m a child before she grabs my spare blanket out of the closet. She turns the light off, climbing onto the bed next to me, on top of the covers. This is such a peculiar situation; I don’t even know what to think, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel nice to be looked after.
“What happened back at the frat house?” she finally asks after a moment of silence.
I consider not answering her. It’s really none of her business, but she also didn’t have to make sure I got home either. Plus, the vodka is still running through my bloodstream something fierce, so my filter is nonexistent.
“I can’t fucking stand JT.”
“JT? Who is that?”
“Aston.”
“Why do you call him that?”
“Because he looks like a goofy version of Justin Timberlake in his NSYNC days.”
Laughter bubbles out of her, and the sound makes me start to laugh too.
“That’s ridiculous, Knox,” she says between fits of laughter. “Why can’t you stand him?”
I remain silent for several moments, not really wanting to get into it. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Okay. We don’t have to, that’s okay.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For helping me when you don’t have to.”
“It’s no problem, honestly.”
Silence blankets us, and before long, I hear her soft snores and know she’s asleep. I’m somehow able to shut my mind off and sleep finds me not long after.
When I wake up in the morning, she’s already gone, but I have a text on my phone from her.
Katie: Sorry to leave before you woke up. Had to get home and get ready for work. I’ll text you later to check and see how you’re doing. :)
I vaguely remember swapping phone numbers last night once we got back here. The message brings a small smile to my lips. She’s so compassionate, and she barely knows me.