50. Bellamy

FIFTY

bellamy

I sat on the half-rotted picnic table in my backyard, staring at the letter in my hand that read: We regretfully write to inform you, you were not selected for a scholarship for the upcoming academic school year.

My leg bounced on the seat, my chest going tight as the hopes I'd had to get the hell out of here went up in a cloud of smoke. Then again, hadn't it been stupid of me to think I would?

The bang of Nash's screen door cut through the quiet afternoon.

"Hey, man." Leaves crunched on the other side of the fence, then stopped. "You still out here?"

"Yeah."

"You got any sauce?"

I balled the rejection letter in my fist and tossed it to the fire pit in the corner of the yard, telling myself I'd just have to push a little more weed, steal some extra cars, and go to the community college. Because I refused for this to be my life forever.

"Yeah, man," I said. "Give me five, and I'll be over."

I grabbed a baggie from my room, then headed back outside and climbed the fence to Nash's yard. He raised a Budweiser from his tattered lawn chair as I waded through the overgrown grass to his dilapidated porch.

"Ten bucks." I tossed the weed to him, and he handed over some cash.

"Dude, what's the sad panda face for?"

"Just same old shit." I sank into the chair beside him, trying to forget that my only options were still dealing and stealing for a short while.

"What's up with you and the pink-Porsche girl?" He jerked his chin toward my house, already pinching a bud from the bag to roll a joint. "She's like, living with you or some shit?"

"Yeah."

His brow lifted. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Just saying, dude." He tipped his chair back, skimming his hand over the knee-high grass. "She's a rich girl."

" Was a rich girl…"

"What do you mean, was?"

That I was not going to discuss right now. "Man, just some bullshit with her parents cutting her off—"

"‘Cause of you."

I swiped a hand over my face, watching the gnats dance in the late evening sunlight. When it got down to it, it was because of me. She wasn't a rich girl anymore because of me…

"Oh, shit. You're like, into her. Dude…" He whacked a hand over my back, patting me like he pitied me. "Hate to break this to you, but in a year or two, that girls going to resent your ass so much, she won't even be able to look at you. Take it from someone older, who's been there, done that, made those mistakes."

Older. He was only twenty-one. He rolled a joint and passed it my way.

I took a single toke before handing it back. Just enough for the calming buzz to start working its way through my veins. "And what the hell do you know about rich girls, Nash?" I asked.

"Rich girl. Poor girl. They're all the same when you take something away from them." He placed the paper to his lips, eyes narrowing like he was thinking. "I dated this girl a few years back. Totally into her. Fucked like rabbits. I thought I was gonna marry her or some stupid shit. She got an offer to go out to UCLA to do some theatre bullshit." Smoke billowed from his lips. "She'd always wanted to act, but when it came down to me or UCLA, she picked me. Then got pregnant. Then we broke up. And that was it. No UCLA. No chasing her dreams." He offered me the joint again, but I declined. "And guess whose fault she thinks it is?" He thumbed at his chest. "Mine. And she hates me."

"You have a kid?"

"Yeah. She won't let me see him, though."

An old engine rattled into his drive, blasting its horn. Spencer, the singer of his band, leaned through the lowered window and shouted that they needed to leave.

Nash pushed up. "I wished I'd told her to go. At least she wouldn't hate me…And I could see my kid, maybe." Then he skirted around the side of his house, leaving me alone in his yard with a very real fear. The last thing I wanted was for Drew to resent me.

I was in bed that night when she came in from her shift at the mall, scrolling my phone, comparing pictures of Cornell to Alabama State while wondering how in the hell she wasn't going to hate me if she stayed.

"Hey," she said, kicking off her tennis shoes.

"How was work?"

"Good. How was...business?"

"Shit."

She changed out of her clothes, pulling on one of my T-shirts, then crawled into bed beside me. This had become so normal—her here, with me. It had only been a matter of weeks, but every thought I had about my future revolved around Drew.

I'd stay with her no matter what. But if she ended up resenting me...

Her lips went to my neck. "Pretty sure I can improve your day." She trailed her fingers down my stomach, beneath the waist of my boxers, but I stopped her hand from dipping any lower. We couldn't keep going like this, or at least, I couldn't.

The bed creaked when she shifted onto her elbow to stare at me through the dark. "What's wrong?"

"You can't just stay here because of me."

On a sigh, she rolled to her back. "I don't want to talk about this again."

"I don't give a shit."

"God, why does it matter? I'm studying philosophy, Bellamy. It's not even a real degree. Cornell, Alabama…makes no difference aside from a piece of slightly more pretentious paper."

"That's not the point. How long have you wanted to go to Cornell, Drew?"

The hum of a motorcycle roared by outside, shaking the window. "That was before."

Before me. I bite back a sarcastic laugh. Because before me, the only lifestyle she'd known was filled with trips to Saint Tropez and Barbie-pink Porsches, and expectations of Ivy League. And she acted like that could all be disregarded.

"How long, Drew?"

"I don't know. Years."

"And how long have you wanted to go to Alabama State?"

"You want me to go to New York? Is that it?" An edge of hurt laced her voice. "Because if you don't want me around, just say it, Bellamy."

"Jesus Christ. That's not it…" I wanted her to stay for me, and I wanted her to go for her. And I couldn't have both. "I didn't get into Alabama State." I turned on the pillow to face her.

All I had to give her was love, but love didn't pay bills. It didn't buy a house or put food on the table. And the thing she couldn't possibly realize was how hard it was to come by money.

Love was easy. Money was hard.

"I'm sorry." She placed her hand on my cheek, stroking her thumb along my jaw. "You deserved to get in," she whispered.

"You need to go to Cornell. Don't just stay here because of me."

The bed shifted, and she sat up, raking both hands into her hair. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you have no idea what you're doing—"

"I know what I'm doing. Evidently, you don't, though."

I sat up that time. If she had any idea the mental torture I'd put myself through trying to sort through this shit. Trying to put her first instead of myself. Trying to make sure she was doing what was best for her without giving a damn about my own dumbass heart.

"Oh, you know? Do you know what it's like to be poor, Drew? Do you know what it's like to have to choose between power or water? Do you know what it's like to count pennies for gas? Because that— that is what you're choosing over yachts and trips and a massive house."

Her fist thumped my chest. "I'm choosing you!"

"And I'm choosing you, too." Because this sure as hell wasn't me choosing me. She was willing to sacrifice everything for me, and this was where I sacrificed for her.

"Go to Cornell, Drew."

Her jaw set. Nostrils flared. "I'm going to freaking Alabama."

"God, you are so stubborn!" I pushed off the bed, pacing the length of my small room. "And what happens if we don't work out?" I stopped to stare at her, and it looked like I'd just shot her with a poison-laced dart. "You gonna regret your decision then?" I asked.

"Why would you say that? You think we should break up?" She pushed to her knees. "If you want me to go, just say it!"

"Answer my question. If we don't work out, are you going to regret staying here?"

"Fuck you, Bellamy." She got off the bed and snatched her jeans from the floor, which I immediately yanked out of her hold.

"Answer the question." I just wanted her to look at the situation.

"I would never regret you. Clearly, we aren't on the same page." Her pained expression swept over me. She went to move past me, but I pinned her to the wall.

"I'm not asking if you would regret me , dammit. I'm asking if you would regret this." I jerked a chin to my room. "The shitty-ass life you would have backed yourself into. Not going to Cornell. Not having fancy cars you can demolish anytime you feel like it because money means nothing."

She shoved against me. "Stop putting your money complex onto me, Bellamy. This is your issue, not mine."

A fire crackled to life inside me, and when she tried to break free of my hold, I only held onto her harder. "You're about to make it your issue, though. That's the fucking point!"

Seconds passed. Her eyes searching mine, the slight glimmer of tears building. "You sound like a guy who wants his girlfriend to break up with him because he's too pussy to just do it."

My face heated. "If you think for a second, I'd put your feelings over mine if I didn't want you..."

She closed her eyes, several tears breaking free before she dropped her head back to the wall. "Just stop talking."

And now I felt like shit. I just wanted to protect her, and I didn't know how the hell to do that when all I was trying to protect her from was me.

"Fine," I said. Then I slammed my lips to hers, working her thongs over her hips. By the time I had her on my bed, I was mumbling how much I didn't want her to leave.

At the end of the day, love makes a man selfish. And I was so in-fucking-love with her, I'd apparently turned into the most selfish bastard there was.