Chapter 51

I had a panic attack today. The first in a while. It was so stupid too—over nothing.

One second I was walking across campus, and the next someone was yelling "Watch out!" right before a big body crashed into me, sending my satchel flying. Everything spilled out, and suddenly I was six years old and kneeling in mulch, bracing for someone to kick me.

The guy laughed and said sorry, helped me pick up my shit, and then he was gone. Like it didn't even happen.

Somehow I managed to act normal long enough to get back to my dorm room before losing it completely. Gabe was there…saw it all…

I kissed a guy for the first time last night. Like, a real kiss. One with tongue and wandering hands and dry humping.

TMI? Well, come down here and complain about it.

Anyway, his name was Bash. We met at a party. He asked me out…but I said no. The kiss fucked with me a bit. It felt good…really good…made me want more…just not with him

Another birthday, Iz. You bet your ass I'm playing the dead twin card for extra drinks tonight.

AGE 21, MARCH

"Happy birthday, dear Jeremy,"Gabe and the rest of our group sing obnoxiously into the crowded night club, their voices muffled by the pulsing music and roar of the crowd. "Happy birthday to you."

The candle flickering on the cupcake presented before me taunts me, beckoning me to throw more empty requests to a deaf, uncaring universe.

And still, knowing people are watching me, waiting for me, what choice do I have but to pretend this isn't killing me a little bit?

Except you do have a choice…

At the reminder, a bitter smile crawls up my face. Gabe says something, but I ignore him, and scoot forward, flattening my lips, and closing my eyes, holding my breath.

I count to five, because any longer would probably draw concern.

But for those five measly seconds, in the darkness that resides behind my closed lids, I summon forth that pain that lingers there just out of sight. Lowering the wall just a couple inches to allow it to filter in, and spear me right through the chest.

Fuck.

And when it's all trapped in my chest, knotted up in all its ugliness, then and only then do I release it, extinguishing the flame of the birthday candle while simultaneously releasing the shit that comes with this day.

I don't make a wish.

I don't see the point.

Not anymore.

My friends cheer, and Gabe throws his arms around me, giving me a big drunken kiss on the cheek.

Scowling through a laugh, I shrug him off.

"Bottoms up, Jer!"

And a row of shots appear before me.

I glance at Gabe, and he wags his brows, grabbing one. "I'll help," he says, and I roll my eyes, plucking one of the glasses for myself.

"To twenty-fucking-one, baby!" he yells, and we clink glasses, before tossing the tequila back. Someone hands me a lime, and I quickly shove it in my mouth, making faces as I suck the juices from it to tamper some of the foulness of the liquor.

A warm, muscular arm comes around me, tugging me into a hard chest. "Fuck, baby, you smell good," Sam says burying his face in my hair.

Biting back a smile, I meet Gabe's glassy, amused gaze.

He mouths something I can't make out—my mind too sluggish. But it looks like encouragement, so I just shrug and grin, and sink into the warm, strong body cradling mine.

Sam and I have been hooking up here and there the last couple months. He lives in the same apartment building I do—the one I managed to move into not even a month after returning home for summer break.

After the mother of all tense encounters with Mason…

I just couldn't do it.

I needed out.

I thought I could handle it—being around him again, being home—but the second my defenses fell, I lost my mind.

Mom and Dad tried to convince me to hold out for the summer, but even they could tell I was crawling out of my skin, reverting back to my old hermit ways, barely leaving my room. I could tell it hurt them, but I also didn't miss their relief either. Because moving me into my apartment meant they no longer felt obligated to stay in a house they'd rather much sell…

But can't.

While, unofficially, the house hasn't been up for sale for months—with each new offer coming in being rejected, to the point the realtor even started turning people away—they finally bit the bullet and told the realtor to take it off the market.

So, now, it mostly just sits abandoned, save for the cleaning lady my parents hired to stop by every other week to dust and make sure there are no issues.

"Hey," Sam says into my ear, his voice gruff in that way I love, vibrating over my skin.

Tugged back to the present, I twist my head, meeting his glittering black orbs.

He licks his lips, and something stutters in my chest.

Leaning up, I drag my lips across his jaw, to his ear, "Back room?"

I feel his cheek lift with his smile. And without a word, he nudges me to a stand, taking my hand and joining me. Before we leave the group, I down one more shot—some liquid courage—and then let the big brute drag me across the packed platform that overlooks the dance floor.

The heavy, sultry music blaring from the DJ booth, reverberates through my chest, pounding in time with my pulse.

The tequila pools warmly in my gut, and a buzzing fills my fingers.

From inside the back pocket of my jeans, my phone vibrates. But I ignore it.

Sam leads me past the bathrooms, and down a hallway to where there are curtained-off corridors. The music is still heavy back here, heavy enough to drown out most of the grunts and moans coming from behind the thick black velvet curtains.

It's infectious—the energy here. Gone are the restraints that I'd feel just about anywhere else. Here, in this gay club in the hub of the city, surrounded by people from all walks of life just looking to let loose, free to explore their baser needs and desires in a way that is open and free of any shame…

We find a free stall, and Sam leads me inside.

He drags the curtain closed, plunging us into darkness.

And then he's on me…

And I'm all over him.

And for a little bit, it's no longer my birthday.

When it's over,and I'm zipping up my fly, Sam says out from the other side of the stall, "Your phone fell out. Looks like someone's been trying to reach you."

Craning my neck, I meet his gaze, his face lit up blue from the screen on my phone.

It's ringing, not that I can hear the vibrations over the music.

Frowning, I quickly take it from him. I don't even have to look down to see who it is, but still, my eyes can't help themselves.

Jaw working, I nod stiffly, and hit End.

The last thing I want to do right now is talk to him.

Not today of all days.

Not when I can still feel a slight twinge in my ass from having just cashed in my anal V-card.

It's not a bad twinge—Sam was…gentle…more gentle than I wanted, if I'm being honest—but it isn't pleasant either. Sure when he hit my p-spot it was, but other than that, mostly it was just…anticlimactic.

"Hey," Sam says, louder suddenly. I didn't hear him approach.

A hand cups my cheek, and I have to will myself not to flinch away.

This happens every fucking time.

"You okay? I didn't…I didn't hurt you, or-or?—"

Despite how dark it is, I resist an eye roll. He's being nice. Stop being a dick.

"No, no, I'm good," I say on a rasp.

There's a pause, and I can practically feel him warring with himself.

"I know you wanted it this way, but?—"

"I meant it," I cut in quickly. "No regrets, promise. I… Thank you."

He huffs a short laugh. "You don't have to thank me for that."

Feeling my face heat, I shake my head. "I just meant thank you for being cool with…this." I wave a hand at our surroundings, not that he can probably see it. "I know first times are supposed to be like…a big deal, romantic, or-or?—"

He laughs, and I try not to bristle.

Easy… It's not a mean laugh.

His hand moves to my shoulder. "Babe, your hetero upbringing is showing."

I snort at that.

"It's okay to still want that stuff," he murmurs, talking right against my ear, his breaths hot against my skin. "But it's also perfectly okay to not want that."

Throat tight, I nod.

I feel him about to say something, when my phone lights up as it starts ringing again.

Growling under my breath, I hit End.

"Ah, so that's why."

I frown, and step back.

"Let me guess, straight?"

"Yeah…" I say faintly. He probably doesn't even hear me.

He's also still in love with my dead sister, whose birthday just so happens to be today as well… and he's likely losing his shit just like every year, and I'm…

Fine.

Totally, a-okay, fine.

But of course, I say none of that.

I clear my throat, and pocket my phone. "Come on, I need a drink."

Sam chuckles under his breath, and crowds my back. This time, I can't help but stiffen. He senses it, and gives me space. If he's offended, he doesn't let on. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking, because when we get back to the table, he quickly, quietly makes his escape.

Oops.

Trying not to let it get to me, I drown all my doubts and second-guesses in more shots. More cocktails. It's my twenty-first birthday. Mine, just mine…

The one time I fucking hate that word, and all it carries.

It's what you wanted, isn't it? a voice slithers up from somewhere deep inside me. All yours, all yours, all yours…

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pound down another shot of tequila. I don't even grab a lime wedge this time. I welcome the burn. Wiping my runny nose with the back of my hand, I blink rapidly as the world around me tilts…and keeps tilting.

The DJ spins one song into another, and my lip crooks up when a guy starts singing and I instantly recognize the lyrics. Avril's Lavigne's "I'm With You." Some remix or cover from the sounds of it. My entire body seems to vibrate with the pulse-pounding beat.

Slumped against someone—or maybe just the curved edge of the booth—I fumble around my pockets for my phone when I realize it's not just me vibrating. But my phone too.

This time, whatever fucks I had that kept me from answering before, are gone.

Slamming my thumb on Answer, I bring it to my ear, and say loudly, "Yes?"

There's a long quiet pause—long enough to make me wonder if I even actually hit Answer at all. I'm just about to throw my phone, when he speaks.

"Jeremy?"

And even through my drunken haze, I feel my heart skip.

Fuck.

"Jer? Are you…"

"My heart," I tell him.

"Your…your heart?"

"It's…it's broken," I tell him with a sigh. And then a hiccup.

There's a short little huff of air—like a laugh. Then, "You're drunk."

"Waaaaasteddd," I sing.

Another laugh, followed by a clearing of a throat.

"Mason," I say.

"Yeah?"

"I don't like today."

Again, it's quiet. Probably only for a second or two, but it feels like forever.

"Are you alone?"

I scowl. "No."

And then suddenly, Gabe's there, popping in out of absolutely nowhere like he's fucking Nightcrawler. His black lacquered nails whip out at me, and I tense.

"Gimme that," he says firmly.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, it occurs to me this might be a bad idea.

But the thought comes a half-a-second too late, because he's already got my phone pressed to his ear by the time I finish thinking it.

"Hey there, blue eyes. Yep. Uh huh. Oh don't worry, he won't." Gabe's gaze flicks to mine, narrowing slightly. I flip him off, and he coughs a laugh, covering his mouth. Then, "I know, babe. This ain't my first rodeo. Yep, I'll tell him. No, I don't think that's a good idea. Uh huh, uh huh, bye now."

There might have been pauses between all that but hell if I know. Everything's blurring together.

I sigh as he hands me back the phone.

"That boy's a mess over you."

Pushing up into a seated position, I reach over, clutching his shoulder, and I tell him with all the seriousness in the world, "I hate him."

He smiles sadly, shaking his head. "No, you don't."

My teeth click together, and even through the veil of liquor pressing in on me, steadily snuffing out what little remains of my awareness—telling me I'll be either passing out or blacking out very soon—I feel a pang shoot through my chest at Gabe's certainty.

"I know," I find myself saying.

In my hand, my phone vibrates, lighting up with a new notification.

We both look down at it like it's bomb about to go off.

"Check it, and then I'm taking it away from you."

Nodding, knowing this is for the best, I do as he says, and click on Mason's and my text thread.

It takes a second for the world to stop spinning long enough for me to focus and piece together his message.

My body sways, and I clutch the phone tighter, like it's somehow the only thing holding me up.

MASE FACE

I know today sucks. But this is your day too, always has been, and always will be. And for that, I still love today. Because it means you exist.

Blinking, I try to make sense of it, but things like…thinking are really hard right now. I don't want to do this. I want to dance.

Another message comes in.

Tell Gabe I'll kill him if anything happens to you tonight

There's a scoff, and then Gabe's ripping the phone out of my hand, thumbing out a response. He pauses, glances to me, and arches a brow. "Anything you wanna say?"

"Nope!" I say with a pop, heaving myself to a stand. It takes me a moment to find my balance, but once I've got it back, I find myself making my way toward the dance floor, weaving through the swaying, undulating bodies.

Somewhere in the middle—just as the song reaches its peek—crushed between couples grinding on each other, I tilt my head back, and stare up at the multi-colored lights bisecting the room, and grin drunkenly, stupidly.

Cheers, sis.