More Than Lies (7 page)

Mason comes stumbling out of Shawn’s truck. Without looking at me he walks to the house. The poor drunk probably doesn’t have a clue that I’m behind him. Seconds later, Shawn rounds his truck. His hard eyes land on mine, but I don’t care. I walk past him without a word, following Mason.

Once inside the door, Mason turns to the left to make his way down the hall toward his bedroom. Once he’s gone, I kick off my heels then move forward toward the kitchen in search of alcohol. The buzz I had kicking when I fell asleep is gone and I want it back. Looking to my right as I pass the entryway to the living room I see young people scattered about and passed out. Typical.

Once in the kitchen, I go to the counter by the fridge, where all the liquor is lined up and grab the open bottle of tequila. Pouring a double shot into a tumbler setting on the countertop, I toss it back, swallowing it in one burning gulp. I used to love this feeling. Not so much anymore, though. When you go so long without your needs ever getting satisfied, it eventually turns into frustration on a catastrophic level. Sure, I could go upstairs, pleasure myself until I come, but satisfaction won’t follow. It never has. I want more than what I’m capable of handling by myself.

I don’t turn to acknowledge his presence. Seeing him only makes it worse. Instead I pour another double shot of liquid fire.

“Why the fuck was that prick bringing you home?”

After Mason made it known yesterday morning that I’m sleeping with Jared, you’d think Shawn would know the answer to that question. He probably does. He just wants me to verbalize it. I’m not going to.

“Leave it, Shawn.” I twist around and pin him with a stare. Next, I toss the tequila back, but this time my eyes widen. Ok, maybe my buzz wasn’t so much gone like I originally thought.

Wow. That was stout.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough that I should be in bed.” What’s with the twenty questions? More importantly, why does he even care? From what I saw earlier tonight, or last night really, Shawn and Mason left with the brunette trash from Level. I don’t have to guess what they left to go do and I certainly don’t want to imagine it.

“So, let me get this straight. You got onto the back of Cole’s bike, drunk? Are you fucking crazy, Tara?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “Or do you have a death wish?”

“Neither, are you done now?” His palm smacks the side of the refrigerator before turning. Moments later, I hear the door to the bathroom down the hall slam close.

I turn back around, pour yet another glass and down it. I’m going to pay for this when I wake up and it’s going to be so much worse than yesterday morning’s hangover. Screw it. If I’m going to do it in the first place, might as well do it right.

“You know, it’s only a matter of time before Holly has him back in her grasps. You don’t stand a chance with Shawn; you never have.” Cassie’s catty bitch-ass voice assaults my ears. Sometimes she’s worse than Amanda. I put up with Mandy’s shit because she is dating my best friend, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I deal with her friends crap. Without giving it a bit of thought, I turn and leap forward. She needs a good butt kicking. I’m not a fighter. I know I can take her if I tried, but I don’t actively seek out confrontations. My mother would flip her lid, so I do what’s necessary to avoid that at all costs.

Before I reach her, a set of massive arms grab me around the waist, pulling me backwards until I’m against his hard chest. “Get. Out. Of. My. House.” Shawn bites each word out through clenched teeth. I know they aren’t directed at me. Even if I weren’t looking at her shocked expression, I’d know they are aimed at Cassie Winston.

“What?”

“I don’t think he stuttered, Barbie.” Okay, Barbie is usually held for Holly, the queen bitch herself, but I had to. Sue me if you don’t like it. I don’t usually act like this, but I’ve had my fair share of alcohol tonight.

“You won’t disrespect her, or anyone else that lives here. Last time I checked, you don’t live here…so leave.” His words are still a bark. Shawn can come off quite scary at times. Frankly, Cassie looks like she is about to pee her pants. Inside, I’m loving it. This is so much better than me punching her. “Or I could let Tara go, but I don’t think you want me to. Trust me, she will crush you.”

I will? Hell, I don’t know if I will or not. I’ve never hit another person in my life. I’m bigger than Cassie, in every way, sure, but I’m not going there.

The snootiness crosses her face again. It’s the same one my mother wears around me. She should have been my mother’s kid. I’m certain her and my mother would get along much better than my mother and I do. “Yes, she would.”

Oh that bitch went there. Yes, I have issues with my weight. I’m not over-weight, I don’t think, but I’m not thin or skinny by any means, and it doesn’t matter how much I work out, I’m never going to be a small size. I love to cook and I love to eat the food I cook. It’s just not in the cards for me. Doesn’t mean I like it, but she doesn’t have the right to throw it in my face, especially with Shawn standing right here.

I try to jump forward, but Shawn’s hold on me tightens. “Leave. Now.” Another bark, only this time his voice is deeper. It’s a warning.

“Whatever.” She turns, exiting the kitchen followed by the house as quickly as her feet will move.

Once I hear the door click close he releases me, and as he steps backwards the warm flannel shirt I’m wearing, Jared’s shirt, is pulled off my body. I turn, facing Shawn. What the heck is that about?

“Go take a shower!” My jaw drops at his order. Seconds after, he rips the shirt down the middle, making two un-wearable pieces. What the flyin...

The material is disregarded, landing in a pool on the tile floor.

I plant my hands on my hips in a defiant gesture. He’s not about to order me around. I might take that crap from my parents, but I won’t from anyone else. “Excuse me?”

Shawn wastes no time. He springs forward in an instant, making me step backwards until my back collides with the wall. He continues to close in on me, placing his palms on the flat surface of the wall next to my face and leans in. “You smell like him and I don’t fucking like it.”

Oh tough shit.

“Because you smelling like a cheap whore is so much better,” I lash back. I don’t waste my time, either. I take both of my hands, placing my palms on his chest and push as hard as I can. It might not have come across as a shove, because his body didn’t move away from mine as much as I intended it to. “Piss off, Shawn.” With those last words I leave the kitchen, taking myself up the stairs to my bedroom for a shower…and not because Shawn ordered me to, but because I do in fact stink.

If I wasn’t as drunk as I am right now, I might have stopped to analyze what just happened between us, but I don’t. I’m going to struggle enough just getting out of my clothes to shower tonight, or this morning, or whatever the hell time of the day this is.

He is a mother-effin’ jerk!

A short, loud chiming sound rings though my ears.

I hate that sound. That sound tells me, once again, my drunk-ass forgot to flip the silent switch on my cell phone on before falling into bed at whatever time I managed to get home this morning.

Another piercing chime rings out and this time I groan.

I reach out, grabbing a spare pillow and cover my head with it. No doubt, the pillow that should be under my head is somewhere on the floor. As long as I can remember, I’ve always woken up, lying on my stomach with my face buried into the mattress. Today is no different.

A third chime comes through not even twenty seconds after the last followed by two more before I jut out my hand, feeling for my cell phone somewhere on the nightstand. Around the seventh or maybe eighth chime I locate the source of disruption. Without looking, I flip the switch to silent and then drop it back down.

It’s not like I don’t know who’s texting me.

Buzzing. Loud motherfucking buzzing is now jumping around to my side.

Assholes.

The person who invented text messaging should be punched in the dick.

The person who invented group texting capabilities should be shot in the aforementioned dick.

More, annoying buzzing.

Reaching over my head, I grab my pillow and bring it in front of me. Then I rise up and flip over onto my back while snatching my phone off the table.

Bingo.

My roommates, aka my friends, okay, well, maybe that’s a stretch. I mean, sure Mason and I are best friends and have been since first grade. Matt on the other hand, he’s more Mason’s friend than mine. I like the guy, he’s all right, and I’ve known him since junior high when he moved to Tupelo from California. That, I still don’t understand. People move out of Mississippi. No one moves to this shit hole of boredom. Then there is Tara, or Taralynn rather, but I call her Tara. She is a whole other story for another time when I’m coherent and awake.

Opening the text message, I scroll up to the top, to read through what these shits have included me into.

Tara: At the store, need anything?

Mason: Condoms

Tara: I’m serious, asswipe!

Mason: So am I. Can’t go blowing my shit into any cunt.

Mason: Bitches be nasty.

Matt: Hope you covered your shit with that ho from last night.

Mason: Don’t be calling my chicks hos.

Matt: Ok, skank then.

Mason: Fuck you. The bitch was hot.

Matt: I’ll pass, man. I’m satisfied with my permanent pussy.

Me: New fuckin’ roommates. That’s what I want.

Mason: Yeah, with big tits. They can room with me.

Tara: Um...Mase? What size? There’s a lot to choose from.

Matt: They probably don’t have a small enough size to fit his pencil dick.

Tara: Brand?

Me: He’s fucking with you, Tara. Jeez.

Mason: Sorry, I couldn’t resist. lol

It’s funny and I want to laugh, but the pounding inside my head won’t allow it. For someone as smart as she is, she doesn’t catch on to the obvious.

After tossing my phone onto the crumpled sheets, I roll out of bed to go locate something to take the pain away. After exiting my room I see the door to the bathroom is closed before I hear the awful noise of what’s most likely the latest pop crap coming from behind the door. That tells me, Matt’s little girlfriend must be in there. I think back, recalling she was here when I got home last night. I also recall the snooty little bitch being just that, a bitch to Tara. I don’t care if Amanda is her best friend’s girlfriend, I wouldn’t take that shit from her or her friend. They continually make digs and snide comments and I’m over it. But then Tara is the nice one, the one that doesn’t start shit; the one that keeps the peace. She stays non-confrontational for Matt.

Fuck that shit.

Speaking of Tara, my eyes land on her bedroom door. If she’s shopping that probably means she’s at Target and if that’s the case Tara won’t be home for a minimum of another hour. The nearest Target is in Horn Lake, a good hour from Oxford.

I enter her room, which is always clean and smells the best in the house. That’s not to say the rest of the house stinks, because it doesn’t. The plus of having a neat-freak roommate, is that the house is always clean, too. Hell, I don’t remember the last time I made my bed or even washed my own clothes. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever done a load of laundry in my life.

I turn on the faucet, inside the shower to hot knowing I’ll be damned if I wait on Matt’s girl to get done. I locate some generic pain reliever in the medicine cabinet, toss the pills into my mouth, and then down a glass of tap water.

After about ten minutes of standing under the scalding water the pain in my head starts to ease up just as the heat begins to cool down. I’m sure I have our extra houseguest to thank for that. Without wasting another minute I quickly soap up from head to toe, rinse and shut the water off.

This circumstance is actually normal and after three years I’m used to it, which is why Tara keeps a variety of our soaps and shampoos stocked in her bathroom. Amanda goes to Mississippi State so she’s here one weekend out of the month. That’s about all I can take of her. The other times she’s in Oxford, she stays with her best friend Holly. The pounding in my head will crank up a notch if I start thinking about that bitch again.

After wrapping a towel around my waist, I pick up my discarded boxers and head back to my room.

Just as I’m walking past the hall bathroom, the door opens and Amanda comes barreling into me.

“Oh, shit,” she stammers as I steady her with one hand while keeping a firm grip on my towel and dirty laundry with the other. Her breath hitches when she looks up to see me, and her face flushes. “I...I’m so sorry, Shawn.”