I mean, devastated is a little much. I would say a bit upset, not devastated.
But really, who is labeling what I am feeling? Lord knows I’m not.
Since I don’t want to drag this on any more than they already have, I shake my head.
“Please don’t make me jump out of this car,” I threaten, and they both snap their mouths shut, probably knowing I will do it. Anything to get away from them. “Please, let it be.”
When they don’t say anything, I thank the good Lord above and hit play on my phone. Somehow, “Elastic Heart” by Madilyn Bailey starts and I go to change it. But then I’m getting lost in the stupid, sad girlie music, and as my eyes shut, I know it’s to hold in the tears that I will never admit are about to fall. For the second time in one weekend, another song applies to my life.
Because Jayden Sinclair didn’t break me.
I have thick skin and yeah, an elastic heart.
No one can hurt me.
No one will ever get close enough.
I have no clue why I am working on my wrister, but I’m pretty sure that when my dad comes down to find all the holes in the wall from where I’ve missed the bucket I have as my goal, he might actually kill me.
At this point, I might be okay with that.
It’s been a week, a whole fucking week since that night with Jayden, and I can’t shake him. I hate to say this, but I did some girlie stalker shit and I Facebook searched him. I know, it’s sad.
When I found his profile, I looked through all of his pictures. Learned two things. His family is fucking gorgeous and he is so damn dreamy, which of course pissed me off even more. Then I started reading his wall, and really, I don’t understand why people have their stuff set on public, but he seems to be very well liked. Not only by girls but guys too. Even his mom posts on his wall, telling him how much she loves him. It was sw
eet and pissed me off more.
Then I went on his Twitter and his Instagram, and again, everyone loves him. He’s funny and charismatic, and I found myself so damn angry that I threw my phone to make it go away. Now I have a crack in my phone, but in a way, it was worth it. Because the guy on the phone was the one I had the pleasure of being around. The one who challenged me and made me laugh; then when things got hot and heavy, he blew me off.
Why?
That’s something I keep asking myself, along with a billion other questions. Was I not good enough? Did I suck at kissing? I mean, what? Yeah, we were drunk, got that. But who the fuck cares? What hot-blooded dude, a hockey player, says no to sex with a girl who obviously wants to suck his dick? I mean, it doesn’t make any sense!
Maybe Mandie was right, he was trying to be a good guy. But if that’s the damn case, why didn’t he tell me that? Why send Mandie in there when I’m naked and ready to fuck? If he would have just told me, none of that would have happened. Maybe we could have just chilled and talked, sobered up and then rocked each other’s worlds. I want to say it was the alcohol that had me wanting to hump him, but it wasn’t. It was all him. And that…pisses…me…off! I never let guys in. I never let them know the real me. The second guy I allow in rejects me. I mean, is it all a joke? Really? Is this my life? You know what? I quit. I quit dudes.
Which means I won’t be getting laid because I don’t have random sex with random dicks.
Whipping my stick back, it cracks against the puck, sending it hard into the bucket which sends the bucket into the wall. Grumbling, since my goal is all kinds of off, I walk to it, righting it. Then I realize that the damn puck went through the bottom of the bucket.
Fucking great.
“Well, the bucket’s done, and wow, so is the wall.”
Looking back at the door quickly, I find my dad watching me with a disgruntled look on his face.
Pointing at the wall, he says, “You know this house is a rental, right?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“So now I have to replace your phone and the wall?”
Innocently, I say, “I can throw some money down?”
“Eh, fuck it,” he says, leaning against the wall, eyeing me. “Still bothered by that Joe guy?”
“Huh?” I ask, confused, and then I remember that I lied to my father. Not exactly sure why I kept Jayden’s name a secret, but I did, and I would do well to remember that. “Oh, no, not at all. Just mad.”
“Mad about?”