Page 38 of The Absence of You
Dahlia falls asleep in my arms. She’s completely flat out. She doesn’t even wake up when I pull my hoodie over her and carry her back to the house, use her key to unlock the back door, carry her up the stairs and lay her on her bed. Thankfully there’s no sign of Dee. I’m not sure what she would make of the sight of the two of us like this, and I’m not ready for a conversation with her about us yet.
Dahlia is clearly exhausted by the swimming and all our ‘extra-curricular’ activities this evening. After I put her to bed, I sit in the chair in the corner of her room and watch her sleep for a while. She looks so much like the younger version of herself when she is asleep. I can’t believe I wasted so many years being angry at her.
That day, a few weeks ago, when I came back to school after Paris and I saw her standing in the hallway, all I could think about was how I would never let that girl get close to me again. As far as I was concerned, she’d walked away from me and not looked back, and she deserved every bit of my vitriol.
I tried my best to push her away, but she kept getting under my skin. I realise now, it had been completely pointless. She had always been under my skin. From the very first moment I met her, she left a permanent fucking mark on me. Even when I thought she deserved my hate, I couldn’t sever that connection. And then she explained what had happened. And she had good reason for her actions. Of course she did. Because Dahlia Winters epitomises everything that is good in this world. She is genuine, kind, and selfless. And for some reason, when we met ten years ago, standing on the doorstep of my new house, she had picked me. When even my own parents couldn’t find anything likeable about me, this girl thought I was worth something.
When I flicked the light on in the summer house this evening and she stood there in the doorway, her eyes flitting around taking it all in, I knew at that moment, even if she’d had no good excuse for cutting me off, I’d have still forgiven her. That addiction I’d felt at eight years old, at ten, at fourteen. It wasn’t something that was ever going to go away.
The only problem is, I’m not the boy she used to know. Not even close. Turns out, all this time, Lia was still the same sweet girl next door that she always was. Meanwhile, I believed she left me, and it messed me up, whether she meant it to or not. Now I’m the monster under the bed, and she deserves better than that.
Tonight, I’d selfishly indulged in her. Let her believe I was still worth knowing, and now I have this goddamn pain in my gut. Reminding me that Dahlia doesn’t like me, she likes the ghost of me, and when she realises that this is all that’s left, she will be sorely disappointed.
I head back home to get some sleep of my own, but I end up tossing and turning for most of the night so by the time morning comes I don’t feel rested.
I get in the shower and turn it up high, hoping it’ll tame the raging boner I’ve been sporting since she first pulled her hoodie off in the summer house hours ago. The way she kneeled in front of me, offering to please me, Jesus fuck, it had taken will power I had no idea I possessed to turn her down.
Jets of hot water cascade over my shoulders, relaxing my muscles and making me realise how tense I’d been holding myself. My hard on is still throbbing, but I don’t help it out. I let the discomfort torture me, because I deserve it for not walking away from her earlier this evening.
When Dahlia asked about Charlotte again, I didn’t want to talk about her. I don’t give a shit about Charlotte Sloan, but she was my first girlfriend, and I guess, in Dahlia’s eyes that makes her seem important. It’s no wonder she thought we were together after I’d made a show of parading my ex around so our parents wouldn’t suspect we’d broken up. At least Dahlia seemed to believe me when I told her it was over. It’s the truth, but she doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know it was a convenient arrangement for both of us. She doesn’t know I was acting under my father’s wishes. If I admit to that, then I’d have to admit everything. How weak I am. How I’ve become all the things we said we despised as children. I don’t want to admit to her that I’d let us both down, spectacularly.
When I get out of the shower, I’m still as conflicted as before, so I make a last-minute decision to go to the academy gym. An intensive workout always helps clear my head.
Unfortunately, when I get downstairs, I bump into my father.
“Son, I’m glad I caught you. Don’t forget we have the academy dinner coming up at the end of the month.” My shoulders sag. How could I forget Heathley Academy’s Annual Beneficiary Ball? “Your mother and I are leaving today for London for business, and we won’t be back until the day of the ball. I’ve already had the dry-cleaners pick up our dinner suits. They’ll return them early next week. Make sure you hang them up so they aren't a creased mess when I get back.”
My father straightens his tie in front of the hallway mirror for the third time. I’d forgotten they were going to London this week. I’ll have the house to myself for a while. The thought cheers me up considerably.
He finally looks satisfied with his reflection and heads to the front door, picking up one of the two suitcases from the hallway.
“In case we don’t speak this week, I have made the arrangements. We’ll be attending the ball with the Sloans, and I’ve booked a car to take us all.” My mood instantly sours again. For the last few years, we’ve attended the ball with them so, of course, we’d be doing the same this year. Fuck, there is no way I can spend a whole evening with Charlotte and her family and my dad not realise we aren’t together anymore.
He opens the front door and loads his case into the car boot. “If you could go a little easier on the alcohol consumption this time too please.” Maybe if you weren’t such a controlling asshole in the first place, I wouldn’t feel the need to numb my life with alcohol. I rage silently at his back as he returns to fetch my mother’s case. “I don’t want a repeat of the last time we were all out together. Once or twice can be forgiven as a minor indiscretion, but it’s becoming a habit now. The last thing I need is for the Banks men to get a reputation for not being able to hold their drink. You were an embarrassment.”
I’d given up trying to make him see how unreasonable he was a long time ago. Usually, I just let his disgusting brand of arrogance wash over me. But enough is enough.
“I’ll attend the ball with the Sloans, but Charlotte and I have decided we both want to see other people.” His top lip is twitching, barely controlled anger radiating off him.
“Grayson. We have discussed this. It’s a done deal. You need to accept it. I won’t hear another word about it.” He’s distracted by his phone ringing, and he waves his hand dismissively. He heads outside, still on his phone.
Fuck him. I’ll deal with it when he gets back from London. I grab my gym bag and I head out to my car. But as I pass him on the driveway he grabs me by my collar and pushes me against the wall. I drop my bag as he gets right up in my face, his displeasure clear.
“Justin said you didn’t give Charlotte the ring.” He spits out at me. “You clearly weren’t listening. You have no choice about this Grayson.” Where did this prick get off? I shove his hands off me and within seconds I have him backed up against the wall instead.
“And you weren’t listening when I told you I wasn’t doing your bidding anymore.”
“I’m going to spell this out for you so you understand exactly what is resting on your cooperation.” Am I finally going to get the whole story from this fucker? “Charlotte has a considerable trust fund left to her by her grandparents on her mother’s side. There is a clause in it that states she can’t inherit it until she marries.” I fail to see what this has to do with me.
“Yeah well, that seems more like a Sloan problem than a me problem.” I snark.
“Several years ago Justin got in a bit of financial trouble and his in-laws refused to help him out. Being old school friends, I lent Justin some money. I couldn’t be sure he’d be able to pay me back himself, so I made sure I had a little ‘insurance’. We had a contract drawn up. When you and Charlotte marry, she will sign a prenup that states half of her millions will become your millions. Or more accurately, our millions.” Realisation dawns. We’re hardly destitute so he’s pimped me out for what, fucking greed? I almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
“Except the flaw in your plan is that you can’t actually make me marry her, can you?”
“You’re right, I can’t make you. But you’re eighteen, so I no longer have to support you. I can stop paying your college fees tomorrow and you’ll have no qualifications. I can stop paying for your clothes, your car, all of it. I don’t even have to put a roof over your head.” He’s not fucking wrong, but I could earn my own money, right? I might have a little trouble getting a decent job without any qualifications, but it wouldn’t be impossible. I could work my way up.
I’m about to tell the old bastard where he can stick his house and his money when he continues.
