Being Kalli(28)

Stumbling back, Nate catches me before I start to fall aimlessly. I feel my heart pounding hard against my chest, and I can’t understand why it’s thumping my body, as if an engine inside is pushing me toward that door, out in the open.

Handcuffs. Ripped apart. Blood.

I blink, pushing it away, but hear Nate say, “Hello? Kall?”

He has his hands at my shoulders and I buck him away.

His face drops, cut deep in a way I may never be able to repair. Regardless of clothes, we’re stripped bare at that moment, and my rejection hit him at his core.

“Just stay,” he pleads.

“I … I …”

Panicked, my eyes darting around the room, I bend, grab my bag and say what I should have before.

Before I led him on.

Before I abused my position of clear-headedness.

Before I watched and let this relationship turn from The Mess to The End.

“I don’t want to be with you, Nate. I scare the crap out of myself thinking about us.”

I bolt to the door but know I didn’t say what I actually meant to. That it sounded like I placed the blame on him.

Hand to the doorframe, I add, “I meant you can do better. You really deserve it.”

For seconds, he just stands there watching me leave. When I bolt out, I’m gone.

In mind, spirit and body.

I don’t know what comes next.



• • •



What a fuck up!

I sit on a stool at the bar for tonight’s party. It’s still early on in the night, and my only partner in crime is Nate’s roommate who won’t talk to me, either. The bar is high so I cross my arms and lean on the carpet runner since no drunks have messed it up yet. Head on my crossed hands, I can still smell the washing detergent, lemon.

The place is dark and flashing, coloured lights turn behind me, which makes me feel lonelier, since I’m at a bar by myself and have three shots of tequila under my belt, with the three used lemon slices lined by my side.

“Another, barman,” I call. He knows how many he’s served me, and sadly knows I’m nineteen, of legal age to drink. He knows me well.

“Make that two.” I hear someone’s voice behind me.

My head is spinning, I can’t place the voice, until I turn. And sigh. It’s Donovan. He props himself on his own bar stool, and matches my curled up position over the bar which looks girly and hilarious. I burst into laughter, still on my side.

Shimmying closer, I’m just sober enough to smell the fresh minty scent of his breath and I stare at those lips with more interest than I did the first time we kissed.

I can’t blame Scout, but it’s hard not wondering what interest I’d have in him if she didn’t get the idea in my head. Because now, I’m interested, and I need to find out.

Donovan’s eyes drop to my lips and part slightly, but the barman slaps our tequila shots on the runner, ruining the clean spot where I’d rested my arms. The runner is finally getting messy.

As I push a note to him, Donovan stills my hand and hands over a note of his own before I can squirm my way free.

He looks at me holding the salt to pour on my hand. I hand it to him afterward, not breaking eye contact. We know we’ve made a silent deal. He pays for our drinks, I go with him tonight.

Looks like the interest goes both ways here.

I’ll show him a good time tonight if he keeps up this way, but the moment I think of Nate, the more I think, Escape, run, go! and suddenly I want to give Donovan his payment right here. I didn’t get off, back in Nate’s room, and I need a release or else Nate will combust my thoughts. I don’t want him, yet I keep wanting to go back.

I can’t, though, because Nate would turn a fuck into a moment-of-deep-connection. Something romantic like that, something I should run from. It makes my heart pound and my stomach clench, yet I still want Nate, even though it’s turning messy.

I hate messy but do I want Nate, regardless of the cost?

I shake my head back, and see Donovan finish pouring salt on his hand. We pick up our shots, and look again.

Yep, I’ll owe Donovan after this. Guys buy girls drinks to hook up. Not to waste money or be nice. I’ll have to owe him something, which might be a blessing. Nate won’t want me after that.

It’ll settle that problem, but not how I want it.

What other choice do I have?

Donovan dips his head toward my drink. “Three, two, one.”

I lick my hand, throw back the shot in my mouth, and after pushing that down, suck on the lemon.

On my fourth go, it barely burns, so I watch Donovan’s screwed up face as he feels the heat and the power of the tequila going down. He unclenches his eyes, and shakes his head in an animalistic way to bring him back.

I must be looking at him in a funny way, because he licks away the last of the tequila from his lips as he leans in and presses his lips to mine. I let him kiss me, feeling his urging tongue to enter my mouth.