Count On Me(81)

With as pissed off as Coach was when he threw us out on our asses, I’m not even sure I’m gonna have a spot on the team come Monday. I screwed up with Isabelle and screwed up my full ride to a college of my choice all in a half hour time span. I am the king.

Well, I was, until they took it away from me.

Ha, I’m so messed up.

If I know Coach, he called Dean already. So going home is not happening. I’ve already had my beating for the day. He can take his anger and shove it, or use it on some more of the house. With the way it’s looking now, there probably isn’t a spot in the place he hasn’t completely destroyed in his drunken fits. It’s amazing the place even stands at all.

So Isabelle’s house it is. Her mom likes me. I’m pretty sure; even drunk I can charm her enough to get in the door. Who doesn’t love sweet and respectable Kayden?

Except you’re not sweet and you damn sure aren’t respectable after what you did to her daughter.

You know, I can’t even remember when I said all that shit they got me on tape with. I’m not denying I said it because I know my own voice, but I’ve been making fun of her for so long, it could have been three years ago and I wouldn’t know. Gotta hand it to him though, he nailed all of the primo material. I couldn’t have picked better than that.

I told Tim that her mother should have aborted her for crying out loud. How much worse can you get?

I just hope she didn’t tell her mom exactly what I said about her, otherwise, I’m definitely not making it past her front door tonight.

Finally reaching her driveway, I try to keep myself as steady as I can.

“Isaaaaaaaaabelleeeeeeeee!”

It’s slurred and I swear I cracked a couple times, but it came out loud enough to have an effect. Where they had been no light before, there is now. Right where her living room is, it brightens and I know that I’ve been heard.

Making my way up the rest of the driveway, I take her steps, one at a time, until I’m standing directly in front of her door. Pressing my finger down hard on the doorbell, my body sways back and forth as I wait for someone to get a clue and answer.

When the door opens, I expect it to be her mom. There’s this part of me that wants to see her angry face and be yelled at for what I did tonight. I need to be screamed at. I think I actually need it as badly as I need Isabelle herself.

It’s not her mom though. It’s her.

Her face is still stained with tears and even in my haze I wonder if they’re new or just left over from before. Even though she’s standing in front of me, her eyes are locked on the ground, not even acknowledging that I’m standing here. Seeing her like this pisses me off. I walked all this way to talk to her, the last thing I need is for her to look anywhere but at me.

“You, you need to look—at me!”

Like magic her head lifts and for a split second I think I’m actually going to have those pretty blue eyes aimed in my direction, more than happy with whatever expression shines in them. I’d gladly take her anger, sadness, hell, even laughter if it meant she would just look at me again.

She doesn’t afford me that luxury though, instead looking toward my house across the street, her eyes dull and lifeless. I move toward her and the minute I do, I regret it. Instead of cowering the way I expect, she pushes her body into mine until I stumble backward off her front step. Before I can react, she shoves her arms into me, again making me stumble. With one more shove, as hard as I think she can push, she gets what she wants. I fall flat on my ass on the ground in front of her.

I start laughing hysterically and that’s when I see it. Her face scrunches up and she starts crying.

I’m sick of seeing this girl cry in front of me. All I’ve wanted since the day I found her in the parking lot is for her to smile. I felt like the luckiest son of a bitch walking the earth the day she smiled at me for the first time. Now I’m back to doing what I’ve been doing to her for eight years now. I’ve turned her back into the wounded bird she’d been when I saved her.

Something is seriously wrong.

Focusing on the day I saved her, calling her a wounded bird, it’s all wrong. I’m the one that’s wounded and she wasn’t the one saved that day. I was. The life I’d been living had gotten old, so when the opportunity presented itself, I saw an opening and I took it. She saved me and she has no fucking clue.

“Belle…”

Trying to focus my eyes on her, I realize as the haze lifts that she’s not standing in front of me anymore. It’s only when I feel the softest hands in the world run across my face, I know why she’s not where she was.