Текст книги "After We Fell"
Автор книги: Anna Todd
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 49 страниц)
“Well, I’m glad you were a nerd, then,” he says, making my stomach flutter.
“Theresa!” I’m snapped back into reality as my mother repeatedly calls for me.
“Oh, is it past your bedtime?” Hardin teases. Our relationship, nonrelationship, giving-each-other-space-but-talking-on-the-phone thing, has become even more confusing within the last hour.
“Shut up,” I respond and cover the receiver long enough to tell my mother I’ll be right out. “I need to see what she wants.”
“You’re really going tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I am.”
After a moment of silence, he says, “Okay, well, be safe . . . I guess.”
“I can call you in the morning?” My voice is shaky as I offer.
“No, we probably shouldn’t do this again,” he says, and my chest tightens. “Well, not often, anyway. It doesn’t make sense to talk all the time if we aren’t going to be together.”
“Okay.” My response sounds small, defeated.
“Good night, Tessa,” he says, and then the line goes dead.
He’s right—I know he is. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I shouldn’t even have called him in the first place.
chapter
sixty-nine
TESSA
It’s fifteen minutes until five o’clock in the morning, and for once my mother isn’t dressed for going out. She’s wearing a silk pajama suit and has her robe wrapped around her, matching slippers covering her feet. My hair is still damp from my shower, but I’ve taken the time to apply some makeup and decent clothing.
My mother studies me. “You have everything you need, correct?”
“Yes, everything I have is in my car,” I say.
“Okay, be sure to get gas before you leave town.”
“I’ll be fine, Mother.”
“I know. I’m only trying to help.”
“I know you are.” I open my arms to hug her goodbye, and when she gives me a stiff little embrace, I pull back and decide to pour myself a cup of coffee for the road. That small, silly hope still nags at me, the foolish part of me that wishes so badly that headlights will appear in the darkness, Hardin will climb out of the car, bags in hand, and tell me that he’s ready to go to Seattle with me.
But that foolish part of me is just that: foolish.
At ten minutes after five, I give my mother one last hug and climb into the car, which fortunately I had the foresight to warm up with the heater on. Kimberly and Christian’s address is programmed into the GPS on my phone. It keeps closing down and recalculating, and I haven’t even left the driveway. I really do need a new phone. If Hardin were here, he’d remind me repeatedly that this is another reason to get an iPhone.
But Hardin’s not here.
THE DRIVE IS LONG. I’m just at the beginning of my adventure, and already a thick cloud of unease is forming within me. Each small town that I pass makes me feel more and more out of place, and I wonder if Seattle will feel even worse. Will I settle in there, or will I run back to the main WCU campus, or even to my mother’s place?
When I check the clock on my dashboard, I see it’s only been an hour. Although, as I think about it, the hour did pass pretty quickly, which, in an odd way, makes my mind begin to feel lighter.
When I look again, twenty minutes have passed in a blink. The farther I get from everything, the lighter my mind feels. I’m not controlled by panicked thoughts as I drive down the dark and unfamiliar roads. I focus on my future. The future that no one can take from me, that no one can make me give up. I stop frequently for coffee, snacks, and just to breathe in the morning air. When the sun finally comes up halfway through my drive, I focus on the bright yellow and orange light it casts and the way the colors blend together, making a beautiful, bright new beginning to the day. My mood lightens with the sky, and I find myself singing along to Taylor Swift and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as she talks about “trouble walking in”—and I laugh at the irony of the lyrics.
As I pass the sign welcoming me to the City of Seattle, my stomach fills with butterflies, the good kind. I’m doing this. Theresa Young is now officially in Seattle, making a life for herself at an age when most of her friends are still trying to figure out what they want to do with their lives.
I did it. I didn’t repeat my mother’s mistakes and rely on other people to carve my future for me. I had help, obviously—and I’m grateful for it—but it’s up to me now to take it all to the next level. I have an amazing internship, a sassy friend and her loving fiancé, and a car full of my belongings.
I don’t have an apartment . . . I don’t have anything except my books, the few boxes in my backseat, and my job.
But it will work out.
It will. It has to.
I will be happy in Seattle . . . it’ll be just like I had always imagined it to be. It will.
Every single mile drags on and on . . . every second is filled with memories, goodbyes, and doubts.
KIMBERLY AND CHRISTIAN’S HOUSE is even larger than I had expected from Kimberly’s description. I’m nervous and intimated by the driveway alone. Trees line the property, the hedges around the house are well manicured, and the air smells of some flower I don’t quite recognize. I park behind Kimberly’s car and take a deep breath before climbing out. The large wooden door is crested with a large V—and I’m giggling at the arrogance of such a decoration when Kimberly opens the door.
She raises her eyebrow to me and follows my eyes to the door she’s just opened. “We didn’t put that there! I swear: the last family that lived here was named Vermon!”
“I didn’t say anything,” I inform her with a shrug.
“I know what you’re thinking; it’s hideous. Christian is a proud man, but even he wouldn’t do such a thing.” She taps the letter with her red fingernail, and I laugh again as she ushers me inside. “How was the drive? Come in, come in, it’s cold out there.”
I follow her into the foyer and welcome the warm air and sweet smell of a fireplace.
“It was okay . . . long,” I tell her.
“I hope I never have to make that drive again.” She scrunches up her nose. “Christian’s at the office. I took the day off to make sure you get settled in. Smith will be home from school in a few hours.”
“Thank you again for letting me stay. I promise I won’t be here longer than two weeks.”
“Don’t stress yourself; you’re finally in Seattle.” She beams, and at last it hits me: I AM in Seattle!
chapter
seventy
HARDIN
How was the kickboxing yesterday?” Landon asks, his voice strained, his face contorted into a stupid-looking expression of physical effort as he lifts yet another bag of mulch. When he drops it into place, he puts his hands on his hips and says with a dramatic eye roll, “You could help, you know.”
“I know,” I say from the chair I’m sitting on and prop my feet up on one of the wooden shelves inside Karen’s greenhouse. “Kickboxing was okay. The trainer was a woman, so that was fucking lame.”
“Why? Because she kicked your butt?”
“You mean my ass? And no, she did not.”
“What made you go, anyway? I told Tess not to buy you that pass to the gym, because you wouldn’t use it.”
Annoyance flares in my chest at the way he called her “Tess.” I don’t like it one fucking bit. It’s only Landon, I remind myself. Of all the shit I have to worry about right now, Landon is the least of my concerns.
“Because I was enraged, and I felt like I was going to break everything in that goddamned apartment. So when I noticed the voucher as I was pulling out all of the drawers in the dresser, I grabbed it, put my shoes on, and took off.”
“You pulled out all the drawers? Tessa’s going to kill you . . .” He shakes his head and finally takes a seat on the stack of mulch bags. I don’t know why he agreed to help his mum move all this shit around, anyway.
“She won’t see it . . . it’s not her place anymore,” I remind him, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
He looks at me guiltily. “Sorry.”
“Yeah.” I sigh; I don’t even have a witty comeback.
“It’s hard for me to feel bad for you when you could be there with her,” Landon says after a few beats of silence.
“Fuck you.” I lean my head back against the wall, and I can feel him staring at me.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he adds.
“Not to you.”
“Or her. Or anyone.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to anyone,” I snap.
“Then why are you even here?”
Instead of answering him, I look around the greenhouse, unsure of what I’m doing in this place myself. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Does he think that I don’t miss her every fucking second? That I wouldn’t much rather be with her than standing here talking to him?
He gives me a sideways look. “What about your friends?”
“You mean the one who fucking drugged Tessa? Or the other one who set me up in order to tell her about the bet.” I start counting them on my fingers to add to the dramatic effect. “Or you could mean the one who is constantly trying to get into her pants. Shall I go on?”
“Guess not. Though I could have told you that your friends sucked,” he says in an annoying tone. “So what are you going to do?”
Deciding that keeping the peace is better than murdering him, I just shrug. “Exactly what I’m doing now.”
“So you’re going to hang out with me and mope around?”
“I’m not moping. I’m doing what you told me to do and bettering myself,” I mock, using air quotes. “Have you talked to her since she left?” I ask.
“Yeah, she texted me this morning to tell me she arrived.”
“She’s at Vance’s, isn’t she?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
Fuck, Landon is annoying. “I know she is. Where else would she be?”
“With that Trevor guy,” Landon is quick to suggest. And his smirk makes me reconsider the stay of execution I had just granted him. If I tackled him, it wouldn’t hurt much; he’s only about three feet off the ground anyway. It probably wouldn’t even leave a bruise . . .
“I forgot about fucking Trevor,” I groan, rubbing harshly at my temples. Trevor is almost as infuriating as Zed. Only, I believe that Trevor does actually have good intentions when it comes to Tessa, which only upsets me even more. It makes him more dangerous.
“So what’s next in Project Self-Improvement?” Landon smiles, but it fades quickly and his expression turns serious. “I’m really proud of you for doing this, you know. It’s nice to see you actually trying for once, instead of making an effort for an hour, then going back to the way you were the moment she forgives you. It’ll mean a lot to her to see you really following through on these changes.”
I drop my feet and rock in the chair slightly. Talking like this is stirring something up in me. “Don’t try to lecture me. I haven’t done shit yet; it’s only been a day.” A long, miserable, lonely day.
Landon’s eyes go wide in sympathy. “No, I’m serious. You didn’t turn to alcohol and you haven’t gotten into a fight, you haven’t been arrested, and I know you came to talk to your dad.”
My mouth drops open. “He told you?” That fucker.
“No, he didn’t tell me. I live here, and I saw your car.”
“Oh . . .”
“I think you talking to him really would mean a lot to Tessa,” he continues.
“Would you just stop?” I say, imploring him with a quick hunch of my shoulders. “Fuck. You’re not my shrink. Stop acting like you’re better than me and I’m some damaged fucking animal that you need to—”
“Why can’t you just graciously accept a compliment?” Landon says over me. “I never said I was better than you. All I’m trying to do is be there for you as a friend. You don’t have anyone—you said it yourself, and now that you let Tessa move to Seattle, you don’t have a single person to give you moral support.” He stares at me but I look away. “You have to stop pushing people away, Hardin. I know you don’t like me—you hate me because you think I’m somewhat responsible for some of the issues you have with your dad, but I care deeply for Tessa and you, whether you want to hear that or not.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I fire back at him. Why does he always have to say shit like this? I came here to . . . I don’t know, talk to him. Not to talk to him . . . not to have him tell me how much he cares about me.
And why would he care about me, anyway? I’ve been nothing but an asshole to him since the day I met him, but I don’t hate him. Does he really think that I do?
“Well, that’s one of those things you need to work on.” He stands to his feet and walks out of the greenhouse, leaving me alone.
“Fuck.” I kick my foot out in front of me, and it collides with the wooden shelving unit. A crack sounds through the room, and I jump to my feet. “No, no, no!”
I try to catch the flower boxes, clay pots, and random shit before they crash to the floor. Within seconds, all of it—the pieces of all of it—is on the floor. This isn’t fucking happening. I didn’t even mean to break this shit, and here I am with a pile of dirt, flowers, and cracked pots at my feet.
Maybe I can clean some of this shit up before Karen . . .
“Oh my,” I hear her gasp, and I turn to the doorway to see her standing there, a little trowel in her hand.
Fuuuck.
“I didn’t mean to knock them down, I swear. I kicked my foot out and accidentally broke the shelf—and all this shit started falling down, and I tried to catch it!” I frantically explain as Karen rushes over to a pile of broken pottery.
Her hands sift through the rubble, trying to piece together a blue flowerpot that has no chance of ever becoming one again. She doesn’t say anything, but I hear her sniffle, and she lifts her arm to wipe her cheeks with her dirt-covered hands.
After a few seconds, she says, “I’ve had this pot since I was a little girl. It was the first pot I ever used for transplanting a cutting.”
“I . . .” I don’t know what to say to her. Of all the shit I’ve broken, this time it truly was an accident. I feel like complete shit.
“This and my china were the only things of my grandmother’s that I had left,” she cries.
The china. The china that I smashed into a million pieces.
“Karen, I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s okay, Hardin.” She sighs, tossing the pieces of the flowerpot back into the pile of dirt.
But it’s not okay, I can see it in her brown eyes. I can see how hurt she is, and I’m surprised by the heaviness of the guilt I feel pressing on my chest at the sight of the sadness in her eyes. She stares at the shattered pot for a few more seconds, and I watch her silently. I try to imagine Karen as a young girl, big brown eyes and a kind soul even at that point. I bet she was one of those girls who was nice to everyone, even the assholes like me. I think about her grandmother, probably nice like her, giving her something that Karen felt was important enough to keep safe all these years. I’ve never had anything in my life that wasn’t destroyed.
“I’m going to finish dinner. It’ll be ready soon,” she says at last.
Then, with a wipe of her eyes, she leaves the greenhouse the same way her son left only minutes ago.
chapter
seventy-one
TESSA
There’s no denying Smith and his adorable little way of walking around, looking at things, greeting you with a formal handshake, and then drilling you with questions as you try to do chores. So when I’m putting away my clothes and he waddles in and asks me in a quiet voice, “Where’s your Hardin?” I can’t really be upset.
It makes me a bit sad to have to say that I left him back at WCU, but the cuteness of this little kid eases some of that pain.
“And where’s WCU?” he asks.
I do my best to smile. “It’s a long way away.”
Smith bats his beautiful green eyes. “Is he coming?”
“I don’t think so. Um, you like Hardin, don’t you, Smith?” I laugh and push the sleeves of my old maroon dress over a hanger and place it inside the closet.
“Sort of. He’s funny.”
“Hey, I’m funny, too!” I tease, but he only smiles a shy smile.
“Not really,” he answers bluntly.
Which only makes me laugh harder. “Hardin thinks that I’m funny,” I lie.
“He does?” Smith follows my actions and begins to help me unpack and refold my clothes.
“Yes, he won’t admit it, though.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. Probably because I’m not very funny, and when I try to be funny, it’s even worse.
“Well, tell your Hardin to come here and live, like you,” he says very matter-of-factly. Like a little king issuing an edict.
My chest tightens at the sweet little boy’s words. “I’ll tell him. You don’t have to fold those,” I tell him, reaching for a blue shirt in his small hands.
“I like to fold.” He hides the shirt back behind him, and what can I do but nod?
“You’ll make a good husband one day,” I tell him, and smile. His dimples show when he smiles back. At least he seems to like me a little more than he did before.
“I don’t want to be husband,” he says, scrunching up his nose, and I roll my eyes at this five-year-old who speaks exactly like a grown man.
“You’ll change your mind one day,” I tease.
“Nope.” And with that he ends the conversation, and we finish with my clothes in silence.
My first day in Seattle is coming to a close, and tomorrow will be my first day at the new office. I’m extremely nervous and anxious about it. I don’t care for new things; in fact, they terrify me. I like to be in control of every situation and enter new environments with a solid plan. I haven’t had time to plan much about this move, save enrolling into my new classes, and honestly, I’m not looking forward to them as much as I should be. Somewhere in the middle of my scolding myself, Smith has disappeared, leaving a perfectly folded pile of clothing on the bed.
I need to get out and see Seattle tomorrow after work. I need to be reminded of what I loved so much about this city, because right now, in this strange bedroom, hours away from everything I’ve ever known, it just feels so . . . lonely.
chapter
seventy-two
HARDIN
I watch Logan down the entire pint of beer, foamy head and all. Put the glass on the table and wipe his mouth. “Steph’s a psycho. No one knew she was going to do that to Tessa,” he says. And then burps.
“Dan knew. And if I find out that anyone else did . . .” I warn him.
He looks at me solemnly and nods. “No one else knew. Well . . . not that I know of. But you know no one tells me shit anyway.” A tall brunette appears at his side, and he slides his arm around her. “Nate and Chelsea will be here soon,” he says to her.
“A couples night,” I groan. “Time for me to go.” I move to stand, but Logan stops me.
“It’s not a couples night. Tristan is single now, and Nate isn’t dating Chelsea: they’re just fucking.”
I don’t know why I came here anyway, but Landon would barely speak to me, and Karen looked so sad at dinner I just couldn’t sit there at the table any longer.
“Let me guess: Zed will be here, too?”
Logan shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I think he was even more pissed than you about the shit that went down, because he hasn’t spoken to any of us since then.”
“No one is more pissed than me,” I say through my teeth. Hanging out with my old friends isn’t helping me “better myself.” It’s only making me annoyed. How dare anyone say that Zed cares more about Tessa than I do.
Logan waves his hand in the air. “I didn’t mean it like that . . . my bad. Have a beer and chill out.” He looks around for the bartender.
I look over and see that Nate, she-who-must-be-Chelsea, and Tristan are walking across the floor of the small bar toward us.
“I don’t want a fucking beer,” I say quietly, trying to control my attitude. Logan is only trying to help, but he’s annoying me. Everyone is annoying me. Everything is annoying me.
Tristan smacks me on the shoulder. “Long time no see,” he tries to joke, but it’s only awkward, and neither of us even cracks a smile. “I’m sorry about the shit that Steph did—I had no idea what she was up to, honest,” he finally says, making it even more awkward.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say forcefully, closing the conversation.
While the small group of my friends drinks and talks about shit that I give absolutely no fuck about, I find myself thinking about Tessa. What is she doing right now? Does she like Seattle? Does she feel as uncomfortable at Vance’s house as I suspect she does? Are Christian and Kimberly being nice to her?
Of course they are; Kimberly and Christian are always nice. So really, I’m just avoiding the big question: Does Tessa miss me the way I miss her?
“Are you going to have one?” Nate interrupts my thoughts and waves a shot glass in front of my face.
“No, I’m good.” I gesture to my soda on the table, and he shrugs before tipping his head back to take the shot.
This is the last thing I want to be doing right now. This adolescent, drinking-until-they-throw-up-or-black-out shit may be good enough for them, but it’s not for me. They haven’t had the luxury of having someone’s voice nagging in the back of their mind, telling them to be better, to do more with their lives. They haven’t had anyone love them enough to make them want to be better.
I want to be good for you, Tess, I once told her. What a great job I’ve done so far.
“I’m going,” I announce, but no one even notices as I stand from my seat and leave. I’ve made up my mind that I will no longer waste my time hanging out at bars with people who really don’t give a shit about me. I have nothing against most of them, but in all actuality none of them really know me or care enough to. They only liked the drunk, rowdy, fucking-random-girls me. I was only another prop at one of their massive parties. They don’t know shit about me—they didn’t even know that my father is the fucking chancellor at our college. I’m sure they don’t know what a chancellor does either.
No one knows me the way she does, no one has ever even cared to get to know me the way Tessa does. She always asks the most intrusive and random questions: “What are you thinking?” “Why do you like that show?” “What do you think that man across the room is thinking right now?” “What is your first memory?”
I always acted as if her need to know everything was obnoxious, but really it made me feel . . . special . . . or like someone cared about me enough to want to know the answers to these ridiculous questions. I don’t know why my mind won’t connect with itself; one half is telling me to get over myself and take my pathetic ass to Seattle, knock down Vance’s door, and promise to never let her leave again. It’s not that easy, though. There’s a bigger, stronger, other part of me, the half that always wins, telling me how fucked up I am. I’m so fucked up, and all I do is ruin every fucking thing in my life and everyone else’s, so I would be doing Tessa a favor by leaving her alone. That’s the only side I can believe, especially without her here to tell me that I’m wrong. Especially since it’s always proven to be true in the past.
Landon’s plan for me to become a better person sounds good on paper, but then what? I’m supposed to believe that I can actually stay that way forever? I’m supposed to believe that I’ll be good enough for her just because I decide not to down a bottle of vodka when I got mad?
This would be so much easier if I wasn’t willing to admit how much of a fuckup I am. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but the question’s not going to be settled right now. For tonight, I’m going to go inside my apartment and watch Tessa’s favorite television shows—the worst shows, which are full of ridiculous plot lines and horrible acting. I’ll probably even pretend that she’s there explaining every scene to me, even though I’m watching it right next to her, and I clearly understand what is going on. I love when she does that. It’s annoying, but I love how passionate she is about the smallest details. Like who is wearing a red coat and harassing those obnoxious pretty little lying girls.
As I step off of the elevator, I continue to plan my night. I’ll end up watching that shit, then eating, take a shower, probably get myself off while picturing Tessa’s mouth around me, and I’ll do my best not to do anything stupid. Maybe I’ll clean up the mess I made yesterday even.
I stop in front of my apartment door and look back down the hall. Why the fuck is the door cracked open? Is Tessa back, or did someone break in again? I’m not sure which answer would make me angrier.
“Tessa?” I push the door open with my foot, and my stomach drops to the floor at the sight of her father slumped over, covered in blood.
“What the fuck?” I shout and slam the door closed.
“Watch out,” Richard groans, and my eyes follow his to the hallway, where, over his shoulder, I catch sight of something moving.
A man’s there, hovering over him. I square my shoulders and am ready to charge if need be.
But then I realize it’s Richard’s friend . . . Chad, I think his name is. “What the hell happened to him, and why the fuck are you here?” I ask him.
“I was hoping to see the girl, but you’ll do,” he sneers.
My blood boils at the way this vile man refers to my Tessa. “Get the fuck out and take him with you.” I gesture to the piece of shit that brought this man to my apartment. His blood is making a mess on my floor.
Chad rolls his shoulders and twists his head back and forth. I can tell he’s trying to be calm but is feeling agitated. “The problem with that is he owes me a lot of money, and he doesn’t have a way to pay it,” he says, his dirty fingernails scratching at the small red dots on his arms.
Fucking junkie.
I hold up a flat hand. “Not my fucking problem. I’m not going to tell you again to leave, and I’m sure as hell not giving you any money.”
But Chad only smirks. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, kid!” He kicks Richard just below his rib cage. A pathetic whine falls from Richard’s lips as he slides down onto the floor and doesn’t get up.
I am not in the mood to deal with fucking drug addicts breaking into my apartment. “I don’t give a fuck about you, or him. You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m afraid of you,” I growl.
What the fuck else could possibly happen this week?
No, wait. I don’t want to know the answer to that.
I step toward Chad, and he backs away, just like I knew he would. “Maybe to be nice, I will say it once more: get out or I’ll call the cops. And while we wait for them to show up and save you, I’ll be beating the shit out of you with the baseball bat I keep handy in case some dumb fuck tries to pull shit like this.” I move toward the hall closet and grab the weapon from where it leans against the wall, lifting it slowly to prove my point.
“If I leave without the money he owes me, whatever I do to him is on you. His blood will be on your hands.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do to him,” I say. But then I’m suddenly unsure of whether I actually mean that.
“Sure,” he says and looks around the living room.
“How fucking much money?” I say.
“Five hundred.”
“I’m not giving you five hundred dollars.” I know how Tessa will feel when she learns that my suspicions about her father being an addict are true, and this makes me want to throw the wallet in Chad’s face and give him everything I have just to get rid of him. I hate knowing that I was right about her father; at this point she only half believes me, but soon she’s going to have to realize the whole truth. I just wish this all would go away, Dick included. “I don’t have that kind of cash on me.”
“Two hundred?” he asks. I can practically see his addiction begging me through his eyes.
“Fine.” I can’t believe I’m actually giving money to this junkie who has broken into my apartment and beaten Tessa’s dad to a pulp. I don’t even have two hundred in cash. What am I supposed to do—take the creep with me to the ATM? This is such fucking bullshit.
Who the fuck comes home to this shit?
Me. That’s fucking who.
For her. Only for her.
I pull my wallet from my pocket and toss the eighty dollars I just pulled from the bank at him and walk into the bedroom, bat still in hand. I grab the watch my father and Karen bought me for Christmas and throw it at him. For such a skeletal wreck of a human, Chad snatches it out of the air pretty deftly. He must really want it . . . or what he can trade it for.
“That watch is worth more than five hundred. Now get the fuck out,” I say. But I don’t want him to leave, really, I want him to try to come at me so I can bust his head open.
Chad laughs, then coughs, then laughs again. “Until next time, Rick,” he threatens and walks out the door.
I follow him and point the bat at him, saying, “And, Chad? If I see you again, I will kill you.”
Then I slam the door on his ugly face.
