Though I’m distracted as hell as the others party around me. I’m still thinking about my fight with my father earlier. And how I’ll be floating through this life without a family anymore. The brutal brood I grew up with weren’t much of a loving support in the first place, but the stark loneliness crawls into every nook of my body and begins to eat at me.
I know now that they will not be there for me. That my father might actually try to do something to make me suffer my choices. That thought plays in the back of my head.
Then there is the reality that I have to suck this up and seem happy for Taya’s birthday because she expects to feel special because I’m the man she’s been seeing—sleeping with—probably falling in love with. The pressure makes me rub my temples.
Taya grabs my hands and plants them on her hips, batting her eyelashes at me and licking her lips. She’s on fire tonight, and I wish she could inject me with some of her energy.
Suddenly, we’re flying almost halfway across the dance floor. Some girl pushes Taya, her beer flying out of her hand and spilling everywhere, and I steady her as the crowd undulates with the impact.
“What the fuck?” I turn around and say to the group of girls who just shoved her.
“Whoops!” The girl snidely remarks, looking Taya up and down.
I think I hear her giggle to her friends and say something about “underage bitches.”
Taya seems to shrink and backs away. “It’s fine.”
I see the light go from her eyes, and all the sexy enthusiasm she was just sporting completely disappears.
“It’s not okay!” I’m incredulous, yelling more at her than I am at the group of girls who shoved her.
Said girls barely pay attention to her anymore, and Taya is suddenly walking away from me.
My temper spikes, and I know I should just leave this be, but I’m pissed off and soaked in half of Taya’s beer. I really stood up for myself with my father today, and she could barely muster a rude word to those assholes who put their hands on her.
I see her chocolate waves retreating toward the bar entrance as the strobe lights illuminate everything in red and purple light. So I follow, knowing that I shouldn’t. No argumentative words exchanged after eleven p.m. are ever well received or end in a positive solution. I just can’t help myself, though.
“You didn’t say anything to that girl who pushed you.”
These are the first words out of my mouth when I push my way into the night air, the Commons teaming with drunk college kids looking for pizza.
Taya stands in the middle of the brick pavilion, various restaurant signs lit up behind her, as she hugs her arms to herself.
“Would it have mattered? No one would have listened to me anyway. They’re not paying attention.” She grumbles this.
I’m a little taken aback by her complete shut down from the moment that girl pushed her. Sure, she’s laid-back and doesn’t love to confront people. But this? Something else is wrong.
“What the hell does that mean? No one listened because you didn’t stand up for yourself! Do you ever just say how you feel?” I should not say this.
I shouldn’t. But the anger that has been ricocheting in my chest all night since my father drove away has been bouncing around with nowhere to go. And this is its target, apparently.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes shiny with emotion but still checking to see if I need a shoulder to lean on.
That question makes me even more ticked off, because she should be worrying about herself. Why the hell is she always worrying about other people first?
Whatever we’re arguing about is not what we’re actually arguing about. I’ve tried all night to keep my spirits up, but that fight is still clouding everything. I didn’t want to ruin Taya’s night by dumping my feelings on her, and here I am doing it anyway.
And Taya? She’s completely shutting down when something that minor should barely be affecting her. Especially, on a night like this.
“I’m fucking fine. Jesus, have I not been having fun for your birthday?” I run my hands through my hair, trying to take deep breaths and calm down.
Not that it’s working.
“You didn’t have to come out for my birthday. I know we’re not”—she points back and forth between us—“this is not … well, you just shouldn’t feel obligated. I know you’re leaving in a few weeks, and—”
“This isn’t about that. Damn, are we really back there? Downplaying my feelings? So you had a crush first, who cares? Are you always going to make this a thing?”
Like I said, fighting about something that we’re not even mad over. But this argument is going to spiral until we decimate each other, I can feel it.
“Austin, I don’t even know why you’re mad right now!” Now she’s getting mad, and it feeds my own fire.
“I’m mad because you won’t ever truly just stick up for yourself. With me! With the girl in the bar! And now you’re trying to make our feelings for each other some kind of pissing contest.”
“You’ve never felt about me the way I feel about you.” she accuses, her voice cracking.
She has no idea I was going to tell her I love her tonight.
“Taya, that’s not fair. I didn’t know how you felt, you never told me.”
I’m trying to phrase this in a way that will defuse the situation, because clearly we’re both too keyed up right now. Somewhere in my rational mind, I know that. And I don’t know what she was originally upset about, but it doesn’t feel like this is completely about us. I also want to stand up for myself, even though I’m aware you’re just supposed to tell the woman she’s right. But the entire time we’ve been together, this has been nagging at me, and I can’t not voice it.
“You were aware of me. I wasn’t aware of you. I don’t mean that to come off harsh, or rude, but it’s the truth. Maybe if you’d approached me, or spoken up, then we’d have met sooner or linked up sooner. But don’t put that kind of pressure on me. Don’t blame me for the feelings you had before we even had a meaningful conversation. I wasn’t privy to that, so you can’t fault me for taking a little time to catch up. To be invested in this at the same speed. It’s irrational—”
Her hazel eyes flare; I swear I see flames in them, and I know I said the wrong word. I probably should have just agreed with her and shut my mouth. “That homecoming dance was approaching you! Sorry if I’m being irrational!”
Shit, that did not defuse anything.
Taya stalks off, teetering on her heels, and I chase after her. “No, you’re not going to go home alone. It’s your birthday.”
I try to take hold of her elbow—gently—and she jabs it at me. Stepping back, I’m a little surprised at the dormant anger I seemed to have awakened inside her.
“Yeah, well, I don’t feel much like partying right now. Hope that’s not too irrational for you!” she screams at me and turns around to stomp off again.
I can see where she’s heading—back to our house—the one where she certainly is not going to let me into her bedroom tonight.
Instead of continuing this fight, because it’s getting nowhere, I just drop it. I make a promise to myself to shut my damn mouth and instead follow her.