Page 65 of Savored Sins
Zeke: Okay??
Zeke: I don’t expect you to talk to me, but just… Idk. Let me know you read this?
Zeke: God, I suck.
Will opens the door, and I don’t even want to look at him.
He moves aside to let me through, and I stomp into the living room, two rolling suitcases bumping over the floor behind me. I hurl myself into a chair and stare at the floor, waiting for him to say something. Because even though he’s still silent, he’s watching me under that cranky-ass, furrowed brow of his, and I know whatever he’s thinking is pure judgment.
“Serves you right,” he says.
Welp. There it is.
“Gee, thanks. That feels great, Will.”
Will cocks his head, leaning back against the living room wall as he folds his arms across his chest. “You know it’s true.”
“Yeah, Iknowit,” I snap. “So I don’t need you to pound it into me—okay? Trust me, I feel enough like shit the way it is. You can pummel me all you want, but I guarantee it’s not gonna be any worse than what I’ve been doing to myself.”
“I’m not trying to pummel you.” Will’s voice is even, but there’s a softness to its edge. “But I’m not going to sugarcoat things. You fucked up, you deserve what you got, and that’s just how it is. It happens.”
I slide off the chair and onto the floor, collapsing into a heap in the middle of the living room. I hear Will scoff, but I don’t get up. I just roll over onto my back to stare at the ceiling, a languid, pitiful starfish in the middle of the hardwood. Autumn hasn’t replied to any of my texts. Which… good on her.
But I don’t want to move.
I hate everything. Mainly myself.
“I’m so fuckingstuuuuupid,” I moan, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I don’t even know how it happened! Like, I didn’ttryto get plastered. I didn’tplanit—I just…fuck! I can’t do anything right!”
Will surveys me, still leaning against the wall. From this angle, he looks like a swarthy, unshaven outlaw, but I swear I see him roll his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Why not?! It’struuuue!”
I know I’m legit wailing, but I don’t know what else to do with myself. I have two modes: ‘I don’t care, everything’s fucking dandy’ and ‘kill me now, everyone hates me’. Right now, I’m quite firmly in the latter, and I’m spiraling by the second. I can’t help it. Autumn hates me.
Will comes over to me, arms still crossed over his solid chest, and digs the toe of his boot into my ribs. Even though it doesn’thurt, I let out a yelp and roll in the opposite direction, curling up on my side.
“Don’t kick me when I’m down, Will,” I moan. “Shehatesme! I’ll n-n-never be good enough foranyone. Not Autumn, not Dad, not you, not Benji or Phoebe, not any goddamn TV producer?—”
“Hey, I thought you said your pilot filming went pretty well, no?”
“Fuuuuuck,” I wail, pounding my fist into the floor. I can tell by the suddenly chipper tone of his voice that he’s only trying to find something positive to placate me with. He doesn’t actually think I’ll win. No one thinks I’ll win. Because I fucking won’t. “Don’t talk about it! It’s all cursed—Iam cursed. It’s all going to shit!”
I hear Will mutter, “For fuck’s sake,” as he steps over me and sinks onto the sofa.
We stay like that for a minute, Will watching me from the couch, probably pinching the bridge of his nose, and me, lying in the middle of the floor wishing Autumn’s ex-husband’s murderous grandpa’s ghost would come and put me out of my misery. At least Lena would be in the afterlife. Lena likes me.
God. I am sodumb. The coolest, hottest, most talented woman in the world—or at least in greater Boston, what the hell do I know about the world?—somehow got past my walls, saw past the shallow player spoof I’ve learned to wear like a comfy pair of sweatpants. And she didn’t even flinch—she just kept seeing me. Accepting me.
Until I fucked it up. Like I always do.
And now it hits me why this time is different. Icareabout Autumn. I care about her in a way I’ve never cared about a woman before. I care what she thinks of me, sure, but even more than that, I care abouther. How she feels. And I let her down.
I can’t do this. This is exactly why I’ve learned to always shake things off and never get attached. It’s why I don’t think,don’t care. This caring shit is a trap, and I fell for it. I need a distraction.
I grab my phone and open Tinder, a surge of desperate relief flooding through me at the mere sight of the little flame logo. Now, this is familiar territory. This is safe. Phoebe can bitch all day about how shallow I am, swiping through dates on looks alone to find my next conquest, but she’s just jealous. I guarantee there’s a whole boatload of chicks in Amherst that’ll?—
A huge figure slams into me, and any thought I had is shattered. It takes a second for it to register that this gigantic, hulking mound that’s got me pinned to the floor is Will, and by the time it does, he’s knocked my phone out of my hand. It skitters to the floor and I reach for it, but Will grabs my wrist and pulls me into a headlock with only his left arm. Goddamn show off.
