“So,” she said, as a blush spread across her cheeks, “you can ride with me if you want.”

My body trembled, I was ready to puke all over again. I wanted to run, I didn’t even know where I wanted to run, but running never got me anywhere. Running still made it hurt.

I wanted to lose myself.

“How about…” I gripped her hand. “…we hang out for a bit and then we’ll decide when the riding takes place?”

Her eyes briefly widened and then her mouth dropped open as a hiss of air escaped. “Sounds… good. Real good.”

****

The club was filled with sweaty bodies grinding all up in each other’s business. It may have appeared to be my scene, but I was more of a classic rock type of guy, so hearing TI play over the loud speaker made me wince, but I tried to appear into it.

A techno track came on, the green lights started to flash with the pounding music.

“Wanna drink?” Cee-Cee asked.

Hey, at least I’d learned her name.

Even if I did kiss her first and then ask.

Not that she’d minded. She already had her legs spread when I got into the car with her — I didn’t take her up on that particular offer — at least not yet. I wasn’t drunk enough yet, not high enough, not pissed enough.

“Shots.” I licked my lips. “Let’s order shots.”

She shrugged and went over to the bartender while I just stood there and watched as people laughed and partied.

I used to party like that.

Hell, I used to laugh.

But after Wes’s surgery — things had changed. I’d been living a lie for half my life; how the hell did I somehow run out of strength to be the person I wanted people to see? It was like I was a burnt out actor, only it wasn’t a movie. It was my reality.

“Cheers.” Cee-Cee winked, her dark eyelashes fanning against her cheeks as we each did three shots without choking. She must be a regular. Most girls would be downing vodka sodas and asking about calorie content.

“Wanna dance?” She leaned in so close I could smell the vanilla perfume she wore. I fought the urge to push her away.

“Not really in the mood for dancing.” Instead of pushing her, I pulled her against me, ready to lose myself.

“What’s your story?” she asked above the noisy music.

“I don’t do the whole deep emotional talking and spilling my guts out onto the floor. so if you’re into that, screw off,” I snapped.

“Good.” She nodded in approval as she shoved her hands down the front of my jeans in front of everyone. “I don’t either.”

My body flared to life and I hated myself for it.

Without saying a word, I dragged her toward the back of the club.

“Wait.” She winked and then pulled a joint out of her slim black purse, “You want?”

“Aw, honey, you think I’m into that shit? I go big or go home.”

“I can tell.” She looked me up and down, her eyes settling on my arousal before she reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic bag full of white powder and a mirror. “You like?”

“Very much,” I lied and looked away. I knew how this scene would play out. I knew it like I knew the back of my hand.

I’d sneak her into the bathroom, she’d line up the coke for me to snort, we’d get high, we’d drink, I’d take advantage of her, she’d smell like cheap perfume. Her sweat would be all over me and I’d be caught up in the same damn trap I’d been caught up in years ago.

The only difference now?

Now, I was too numb, too indifferent to care.

You know you’re in some deep shit when doing drugs doesn’t make you feel — I felt nothing. I was empty. I lacked the energy to pretend.

I’d lost myself.

My identity had been music, and then her, and then I’d been happy just being Gabe, the happy little player with a heart of gold.

I was so damn tired of it all.

Cee-Cee’s eyebrows rose. “So?” She held up the bag and tilted her head.

“I’m gonna pass, but you have fun getting screwed by complete strangers. I’m out.”

“I thought you wanted to party,” she said in a condescending voice as I started walking away.

With a snort I turned back and glared. “Honey, one of my best friends died from a heroin overdose, a family friend bought me drugs when I was thirteen, I lost my virginity to an A list actress twice my age. Believe me when I say, there is absolutely nothing you could do that would shock me, or make me feel anything but dead inside.”

Her mouth snapped closed as her teeth ground together. With a jerk she walked off, her hips swaying as she made her way through the crowds.

I wanted to wake up drunk.

No, scratch that. I wanted to wake up and feel something — anything but the way I felt then — going through the motions, smiling and joking around as if I actually had something to live for.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I looked down at the text.

Mom: If he calls don’t answer. He wants money. Love you. Mom.

“Hello, final straw,” I muttered under my breath as I shoved my phone back in my pocket and walked over to the bar.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked as he mechanically shoved drinks in people’s faces and put tips in the jar in front of him.

“Whiskey.” I sat down and drummed my fingertips against the countertop. “And keep ‘em coming.”

Ten. The number of times I got hit on while getting drunk off my ass.

Three. The number of times a woman brushed up against me and tried to cop a feel.

Two. The number of hours I spent torturing myself with memories of her laugh, her scent, the way she’d always seemed to make me feel like I could do anything in the world.

One. The number of minutes it would have taken for me to run back into the cabin and grab her helmet.

Amazing. How one minute can define the rest of your life.

Yeah, clearly I still wasn’t drunk enough.

I lifted my hand but the bartender shook his head. “You’ve almost downed an entire fifth. I’m cutting you off.”

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

He didn’t even respond.

I stumbled to my feet and made my way outside. The crisp spring air didn’t sober me up. If anything it made me feel nauseated.

Shit. I’d ridden with Cee-Cee. Cursing, I pulled out my phone and called Lisa.

Her shame was mine.

Our shame was the same.

Our pasts aligned in a way that both disgusted me and endeared us to one another.

She didn’t answer.

I tried Lisa again.

And then desperation set in. I was cold, my buzz was starting to make me sway more on my feet, and a little voice inside me said that if I tried to walk back to campus I’d probably end up in the Sound face down with a belly full of water.

Shit, I was in a dark place.

I dialed Wes’s number.

He answered on the first ring.

“Gabe?”

“I need a ride.” I fought to keep the slur from my voice.

With a heavy sigh he answered, “Where you at?”

“Club by the school, uhh…” I started laughing hysterically. “Shit, I don’t know, why don’t you just ask NASA? You’re the great Wes Michels right? Screw it, I don’t need you.”

I pressed end and stumbled toward the sidewalk and fell on my ass, leaning my head on my knees.

The images kept flashing. First the blood, next the cameras going off and the reporters. God, the reporters. I’d freaked. I’d lost it in front of them.

Minutes went by, maybe an hour, who knew… and then I heard a horn honking and headlights in my face.

I put my hand up to block the light but it didn’t help.

Footsteps neared. I still couldn’t see.

And then a fist came flying for my jaw. I hit the pavement so hard I could have sworn one of my teeth fell out of my mouth.

“Get up, asshole.”

Wes? Did he just punch me in the face? And call me an asshole? I tried to laugh but my jaw hurt too damn bad.

“I said—” Wes grabbed me by my shirt and lifted my limp body off the ground. “Get. The. Hell. Up.” Another punch came, and then thankfully I blacked out.