Me. Ha.
The only person whose teeth and claws are in me is Emerson—ever since the night I snuck into her room while she was asleep. She’d closed her window when I’d needed her, so I let myself in. She’d screamed, and to shut her up, I wrapped my hand around her mouth. She clawed at my arms, her legs kicking and flailing, and when that failed she bit my hand so hard, I still have the teeth marks. I trace the spot on my palm.
“You’re an asshole.” Eliza spits at me as she climbs out of bed and scurries around the room like a cat, searching for her clothes. She sees sense at last. Her bra is hanging off the bedpost, so I grab it and fling it in her direction like a slingshot and continue stripping the bed.
I am an asshole. Emerson’s told me many times over the years, if I can’t care about people I need to learn to fake it. I try, but it’s almost impossible to pretend you care about someone or something when you don’t. Dad and Emerson are the only two people I care about. Everyone else is insignificant and worthless. If I don’t care what people think of me, then why should I bother pretending to care about them?
Em disagrees. She believes if I fake it well enough, I might make friends, or keep a girl interested in me for longer than forty minutes; the maximum time my dates seem to last—except for Eliza, but she’s a glutton for punishment.
Em is the only friend I need. The one girl I’m willing to spend over forty minutes with. The one girl who doesn’t expect too much from me. The one girl who doesn’t want to get in my pants.
I pull fresh sheets out of my closet and make my bed while Eliza gets dressed.
“Colt?”
“You’re still here?” I can imagine Emerson’s voice chastising me for the way I’m speaking to Eliza, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not in my genetic makeup to care about anyone’s feelings.
Eliza is done. I lost interest the moment my dick shied away from her and went into hiding. She means nothing to me, but I was gentlemanly enough to at least wait until after she finished humping my leg into oblivion before I kicked her out. That must count for something. I could have stopped her mid-grind and told her to get out, but I let her do her thing while I recited basketball stats in my head so I didn’t give in to the temptation to do something impulsive like push her off me and jump out the window.
I’m leaving tomorrow. It’s not like this was ever going anywhere. I told her from the start; none of this meant anything because I was leaving for college and had no interest in a girlfriend.
“Screw you. If I walk out that door, don’t bother calling me again. I won’t answer.” She pulls her shoulders back and flicks her long dark hair over her shoulder. Her poor attempt at showing me what I’m giving up does little to change my mind. I won’t beg her to stay. I might beg her to leave if she doesn’t hurry, though. I’m moving across the country to go to college with Em. My priorities are in order, and Eliza isn’t one of them.
Franklin University is one of the most prestigious schools on the West Coast. They’re renowned for their killer basketball program. Sure, I’m starting two years later than everyone else, but I have been offered a full-ride scholarship because I’m that good. There is no way in hell I could have left Emerson alone two years ago to attend college. She needs me almost as much as I need her.
I pull open the door and gesture for Eliza to leave. “Thanks. I had fun.”
Fun isn’t the right word, but I’m trying to be polite and mindful of another person’s feelings. Em should be proud, even if I’m doing it so Eliza doesn’t cause too much of a scene. It was far from fun. I didn’t come and my dick was only semi-hard, but Eliza acted like I rocked her world with my thigh. Whatever.
She flips me the bird and mutters a few curse words under her breath as she stomps out of my room with her silky shirt inside out, her boots unzipped and hair a mess, doing the walk of shame right past my dad downstairs.
I chuckle and wonder if he heard her over-the-top moans and screams. Poor bastard.
Once Eliza leaves, I dart around the room to clean it up. Em will get impatient waiting for me. She hates being home for too long, but I can’t tell her to come over until I clean all traces of Eliza from my room and me. She’ll freak out if I invite her over after Eliza rolled around in my bed naked. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have brought Eliza into my room because it’s Em’s room as much as it is mine.
We’re roommates and we don’t live together yet.
But she’s cool.
Em.
Not Eliza. Emerson is the one other person aside from my dad with the patience to deal with me. She’s used to my smart mouth and my obsession for basketball. She doesn’t care when I stop listening to what she’s saying or walk off halfway through a conversation. I care about her. I’m always there for her and her alone. Doesn’t matter how many girls try to hump my leg, Em’s the one who matters.
I grew up on the outside for most of my childhood. I never fit in with the other kids. Emerson is much the same. We’re two loners, outcasts who found peace in each other.
* * *
Her father doesn’t deserve to live. Wishing death upon a person, according to my dad, is a horrible thing to do. Doesn’t stop me from sending a silent prayer up every night—when Em cries herself to sleep—that her dad will die in the worst possible way.
What kind of man beats his wife in front of his daughter?
What kind of man blames his daughter for his waste-of-space existence?
Her mom is just the same, though. I don’t discriminate in my silent prayers, sending up one for her every night too. I lost count of the times Em snuck into my room while her mom was on a rampage, throwing plates and knives at her dad. She threw a meat cleaver once. Pretty sure the blade is still in the wall beside the TV.
One more day and we’ll be getting the hell away from her volatile family. Starting fresh. A new life for both of us. One where Em doesn’t get pitied and I’m not treated like a troublemaker.
One more day and things will be a lot brighter.
2
Emerson
I used to be able to count the number of times Colton James had climbed through my bedroom window on one hand.
Five times.
The first time was after his mom’s funeral. But then, every year after that on the anniversary of her funeral, not her death, he climbed up the tree between our houses and slipped through my open window.
That all changed the night he slipped into my bed.
We’ve been climbing in and out of each other’s windows ever since and have never spent a night apart.
For nine years he’s been my rock, my best friend, my savior.
He’s been the sole person to care about me, and tonight will be the last time I climb through his window because tomorrow we’re both leaving for college. And I can’t wait.
I double-check I locked my door, though it’s not like Mom or Dad will come looking for me. I haven’t seen them in three days and doubt they’re aware I’m leaving for college tomorrow. Pulling the window open, I’m halfway out when I realize Colt’s window is closed and his blind is down, which means one thing.
His girlfriend, Eliza, is over. Again.