17. Dylan

CHAPTER 17

DYLAN

I couldn’t figure out how Alex could be two different people. One version of him, so singularly focused on pain and pleasure at the same time, the other…I didn’t even know. It was like once we’d agreed to be in a relationship—or whatever—with each other, he’d completely forgotten the version of him that I’d met. And it didn’t have anything to do with me being ignorant or me not understanding. I’d worked enough shifts at The Black Door already to see the difference between what Alex did to me compared to how the other people there played together.

He’d told me he wasn’t easy, but he’d never said anything about not being fun.

Alex was miserable, clearly still reeling over his breakup with that other man. Whenever I thought about what things had been like for the two of them, my blood burned beneath my skin at a low simmer, threatening to cook me from the inside out. It tasted like jealousy, but that was an emotion that had no place between the two of us. There hadn’t been enough time for me to even care. If anything, it was jealousy—envy—over the parts of him that Alex had given to his ex and refused to give to me.

I didn’t want to be ordered around for nothing . My parents did that just fine.

It didn’t matter that things between me and Alex were over.

It didn’t matter that I still jerked off thinking about him, and it definitely didn’t matter I got hard when I cleaned, when I played guitar…pretty much all the time. Even when I was angry, on the verge of tears, my body wanted to go back to before he’d used his safe word with me. Me and my brain hated whatever game Alex had been on, but my body…my body had been fighting a losing battle.

In the days that passed since Alex sent me away, I’d managed to not text him, but I had done some things differently. I’d quit drinking, for one. It seemed like such a stupid ask at that time, but I’d gotten home after our fight and pulled a beer out of the fridge… and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to drink it. I could see him sitting on my couch, watching me with that guarded and expectant expression. It was enough to stop me in my tracks, and I dumped every beer down the drain. Even at work, I’d taken to drinking water or soda on my breaks, turning down shots from my regulars.

I wouldn’t go as far to say I felt better about myself over it, but it was a choice I made on my own, not at someone else’s demand. A voice in the back of my head tried to remind me that giving Alex control had also been a choice, maybe the most important one of all, but I shut it down as quick as it popped up. I didn’t want to hear anything about that.

It didn’t matter anymore, anyway.

So, no drinking. I’d started actively trying to seek out more gigs for myself. The manager of the venue Alex had gotten me the show at loved my music and offered me another show the following month. The money was great, the crowd had been fun, so I immediately told him yes. I wanted to play guitar more, until my fingers bled if need be. I’d given up everything for music, and I needed to stop hating it for changing my life.

I’d also deleted my hookup app entirely.

Changing the bio on my profile wasn’t enough.

That was another choice I’d made on my own. Alex didn’t want to share me, but I wasn’t his to meddle with anymore. The money had been great while it lasted, but I didn’t want to risk another encounter like the rough prick who couldn’t seem to get enough of me. Even though I wasn’t scared either time I’d been with him, it was a slippery slope, and Tate had been so upset when he found out.

Tate.

That was another thing entirely that I’d had to make peace with in the days following my assault and my breakup with Alex. Tate didn’t look at me any differently, but he treated me differently, almost like he was wearing kid gloves around me. I kept apologizing for what I’d done, for keeping it from him, for not being a better friend, and he kept shrugging all of it off. He was so willing to look past every single one of my shortcomings… and for what?

He was too deliriously in love with Brooks to really care.

And I didn’t blame him.

I was on the precipice of another cliff in my life, seeing how in love the two of them were and knowing it was only a matter of time until Tate was ready to leave our apartment and move in with Brooks. I could barely afford my half of the rent—there was no way I could afford all of it. I’d have to get another roommate, which sounded necessary but miserable. I hoped Tate would at least give me enough time to find someone else before packing it up.

Find someone else, or give up entirely and call my dad.

There’d been enough nights on the couch with my finger hovering over his name on my contact list. Enough nights where I’d shoved my phone between the cushions of the couch and sat on my hands to stop myself from calling and begging for another chance. Before promising to fall in line.

Tonight was one of those nights, with Tate upstate at Brooks’ friend’s farm and Alex with them. I’d gotten ready for an early shift at Tryst, hyping myself up for another day of the same shit. After the blow job in the bathroom incident, I’d been lucky to keep my job. Thankfully, Marigold hadn’t learned all the sordid details of what I’d been doing. She thought I’d just drank too much and flirted a little too hard. I’d let her believe that because it was what I needed. After that, she’d been great about letting me pick up earlier shifts so I could play shows, and I had a four-hour shift at Tryst, then a small restaurant in Brooklyn to get to before one in the morning. Sometimes, I felt like I was taking advantage of her, but…

I was only trying to survive. One day I would make it all right.

On my way out the door, I checked myself in the mirror, relieved that the bruising around my neck had finally faded into oblivion. I pushed my fingers against the parts of my throat that had worn fingerprints for weeks, relieved that it didn’t hurt to the touch anymore. The move had almost become a nervous habit for me, a reminder, and when I walked into Tryst and found the man responsible for the bruises sitting at a cocktail table with three of his friends, any sense of relief from before left my body like it had been raptured right out of me.

Marigold was working behind the bar, and I gave her a quick hello after dropping my guitar and my messenger bag off in the back room and got to work. Another girl, Shara, who worked with me, had the tables under control, which meant I could stay behind the bar and didn’t have to deal with anyone at that table. The crowd picked up as the clock ticked past ten, and Shara was quickly getting overwhelmed with all the bustle around the tables.

I’d kept John, or whatever his name was, in my periphery all night, only letting my guard down for two seconds to take a drink of tea and rest my eyes. It was nearly midnight, and I was beyond tired. I’d been sleeping like shit since the breakup with Alex, honestly…since I’d been cut off in the first place. But the weight of my choices and responsibility had been heavier since Alex, and always at night. Like, in the dark, my choices were clear, and I hated them. I just wanted to sleep, I wanted to be famous, and I wanted someone to care enough to let me have both of those things without having to compromise myself.

“You can do this,” I muttered under my breath. “It’s worth it.”

Taking a drink and letting the tea wash away all the promises I made to myself, I set my glass down on the corner of the bar, back near the maraschino cherries and lime wedges. Maybe I’d call Alex after their trip to the farm, not to ask for another chance, but to apologize. To let him know I’d quit drinking, that I’d quit…

I’d call him to thank him.

“You disappeared.” The last voice I wanted to hear broke me out of my pretend apology tour, and I opened my eyes, stepping back from the bar.

“I’ve been here all night,” I said. “Did you need Shara?”

“I meant off the app.”

“I’m not doing that anymore.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.” I glanced over my shoulder, finding Marigold and Shara bent over a tray full of cocktails. “If you need a drink, I’ll send Shara to your table.”

“We’ve cashed out,” he said, licking his lips. “Just wanted to let you know I missed you.”

I shivered, and not because I was turned on. “Great. Well.”

“Take care,” he said, his frown flickering into a smile before fading into nothing.

I didn’t say anything. I just watched him leave, catch up with his friends outside on the sidewalk. One of them lit up a cigarette, and my nervous system started to settle. The danger had passed, and I had fifteen minutes left on my shift before I could head out for my gig. Shaking off the awkwardness from the encounter, I felt lighter than before. It was relief, I realized. I’d set a boundary it had been honored, and that was more than my dad had ever given me. More than Alex…

No, that wasn’t fair.

Alex wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before.

He wanted to push my boundaries, and I liked that about him. The thought of it had turned me on, but only with him…no one else.

I finished my drink, washed the glass, then helped Marigold by slicing up some more limes to get her and Shara through the rest of the night. One day, I wanted to tell her the truth. She was a good boss, friendly and kind, and I didn’t want to take advantage of her. I didn’t want handouts. I was willing to work; I just needed the chance. I needed to prove to myself and everyone else that I could do it on my own.

After sealing the tub with the last of the limes, I swayed forward, entire body feeling like vibrating Jello. It had to be the exhaustion catching up with me, I thought. I said goodnight to Marigold and Shara, then headed to the back to get my guitar and my bag. I banged into the door frame on my way out of the back room, blinking hard and slow to get my bearings back about me.

Something didn’t feel right.

But I was more tired than I’d ever been, more emotionally worn down, and I’d quit drinking. My body was trying to make sense of whatever chaos I’d put it through over the past months, and I made a note to take a day off to sleep the next day.

Waving goodbye to Marigold and Shara over the loud crowd, I made it to the front door before I realized it wasn’t just me being tired or worn out. There was something very, very wrong. I turned to head back in, grabbing the door frame to steady myself. The bar spun, the sidewalk spun, and warm, calloused hands curled their way around my waist, pulling me upright.

For so long, I’d always imagined my worst nightmare to be hanging up my guitar, putting on a suit, and going to work for my father, but I realized that was nothing compared to the real life nightmare I found myself standing in at that moment. I tried to point inside, tried to shout for help, but nothing was working. My arm didn’t move, my mouth didn’t open, and then everything went black.