The Struggle (The Things We Can't Change Book 2) (18 page)

“Being rich doesn’t really have anything to do with it,” I snort. “It’s not like money can keep you from dying, or being hurt. Tony Stull beating her, and Tony still being in the hospital, is proof of that. It’s not like rich people don’t have problems, Tessa.” I’m not sure why I’m defending Evie, or even all the people at the club. It’s not like I haven’t made fun of them a million times myself.

“I’m just saying,” Tessa snaps back, and I know I’ve annoyed her. “Their problems sure as hell aren’t the same nature as ours. My bad, I should have known better than to say anything about your precious Evangeline Parker, even if I was
sympathizing
. You ass.”

I’m quiet for a moment, because now I’m irritated that there could possibly be rumors or secret conversations that I have any kind of tender spot or longing or anything for Evie. It’s the opposite of what I want, shatters the image I keep building for myself. My walls are still up, firm and strong. I may be emotionally closed, but it doesn’t mean I deny basic human emotions; I can allow a bit of sympathy for a girl whose dad just died and left her, literally, all alone in the world.

“She’s not mine,” I shoot right back. I’m quiet for a moment, and then mutter quietly, “Sorry. Long day.”

“Yeah. Right. Whatever.” Tessa pushes out the door and back into the dining room with a new tray of food, resolutely not looking back at me.

I know that by the end of the night she’ll have cooled off and probably want to hang out. And I’ll probably say yes, because I know I’m going to want one hell of a big drink by the time we get out of here. Speaking of drinks… I push out of the kitchen and make my way to Uncle Alex at the bar and ask if I can take a break. Aside from some five-minutes rests and pausing to wolf down a courtesy meal from the kitchen, it will be the first break I’ve taken all day and I desperately need a cigarette.

Alex gives me a nod and even hands me a high ball glass of Coke, though sadly without any rum or whiskey. He’s been pleased with me all day, ever since we stopped to catch our breath around noon and I told him I’d cut off any contact with Cameron. You’d think I promised to walk the straight and narrow or something, he was so pleased.

I exit the dining room and head out the long hallway, getting a prickle of unease as I walk down the dark corridor, just like always. I’ll never be able to shake the memory of Evie’s screaming that night, or the way it still makes my hair stand on end to think about it. But all is quiet today and I’m grateful as I pass the bathrooms and push out the glass door.

I quickly set my glass on the ground at my feet and pull out a cigarette. It isn’t until I have my hands cupped around the end to protect my lighter from the slight breeze that I hear a sniffle and nearly jump out of my skin. I almost inhale a breath of smoke and force myself to keep from choking on it as I whirl around. And… I should have guessed. Evie Parker is out here, standing to one side of the door.

She’s wearing black dress pants and a long-sleeved black v-neck shirt, her arms still wrapped around herself as though she’s cold, even though she’s bundled up and it’s warm out. The clothes seem baggy on her already-small frame, as though they’re swallowing her up, and she seems to be drowning underneath the long mass of her hair, which is down and loose, spread all over her shoulders and half covering her face.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. Her voice is small and I can barely understand her, but I allow that it’s understandable, given the circumstances. “I just… needed a second.”

I take a draw from my cigarette in grateful relief, and then gesture vaguely with it as I release the smoke from the corner of my mouth. “Whatever. We seem to be fuckin’ destined to keep meeting like this, so take your time.”

She sniffles again and nods, and I lean my back against the brick wall, smoking my cigarette and retrieving my glass from the ground. We stand together in silence for at least ten minutes, with our own thoughts. I look at Evie out of the corner of my eye and see her eyes are tightly shut, nails digging into her upper arms as tears still squeeze out from under her eyelids. Big, trickling tears that slowly roll down her cheeks.

I open my mouth to say something, and then quickly shut it to assess my emotional state before I say anything stupid. But no, the wall is still there. I feel sorry for her, yes, but it’s a detached kind of sorry, like when you see those abused animal commercials on television. You acknowledge it’s sad and sort of want to help, but all the same, you’re secretly thankful it’s not your life. I figure I’m safe to proceed, and that even though it’s Evie, I really am done with feelings. Forever.

“Sorry about your dad,” I say, and expel a long stream of smoke upward into the night sky, watching it curl and contort hypnotically. “Fucking sucks. I know I didn’t really act like it, but we all liked him. The servers, I mean. He was a good guy, especially to us.”

Evie’s eyes open, and they look huge in her small face, deep circles underneath them that magnify the strange purple color. She looks like she hasn’t slept since Friday night, and she probably hasn’t.

“Thanks,” she mutters, and sniffles several times.

We’re quiet for a couple more minutes, and finally Evie throws back her shoulders and pulls the door open, heading back inside without another word. I stand there for a few minutes, trying to identify what’s coming over me. Disappointment, I suddenly realize incredulously. Disappointment that she just left, without saying anything else. It’s the first time we’ve talked and it didn’t end in some kind of argument, and I’m disappointed.

And then I realize that fucking Evangeline Parker has done it again. She’s somehow, quietly and without my noticing, drilled a hole in my wall and gotten under my skin.
Damn
, how does this one girl manage to do it? I’m not feeling, not exactly, but to actually be disappointed that she left without saying anything else to me? What is this, freaking Craigslist Missed Connections?

I toss my cigarette to the ground and stomp on it, shoving aside the disappointment before it can manifest into anything else. I stalk back into the dining room and Tessa immediately heads right for me.

“Hey, since we can’t go to Cameron’s or anything, you want to go down on campus tonight?” she asks, our earlier argument already forgotten just as I had predicted. “My friends say there’s a big party down around Seventeenth tonight.”

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, and I look down at her and feel relief as familiar feelings of lust and want stir through me.

Fuck Evie Parker. After all, after tonight, it’s entirely possible I won’t be seeing her for a long, long time. Even though that thought gives me an overwhelming feeling of relief, there’s a small part of me that is still disappointed and I ruthlessly try and ignore it.

I push it away, disregard it, kill it, and know I’ll be able to fully get rid of it tonight, when Tessa has her arms around me and I feel, if not love and affection, something that is just as good; lust.

Evangeline

41

I lay on the couch in my dad’s office, curled into a ball. Silent, calm, tears trickle down my cheeks, some trailing to the end of my nose and hanging there, trembling for a moment before falling. Others wind all the way down my cheeks, onto my throat and even down my chest and underneath my shirt, creating a slight burning and tickling feeling that I ignore. It feels like the walls are all closing down on me, pressing in, trapping me, suffocating me.

All I can think about is how dark and ugly the world is, a place I never want to have to face, ever again. A place that has gotten my dad killed, my own body abused, used for someone else’s gain and pleasure without my permission, and saddled me with two people who care only for themselves.

As though summoned by my thoughts, Clarissa appears in the doorway. She stares at me for a moment, and then her lips curl in disdain. “We’re about to read the will,” she says shortly. “Come downstairs.”

I sniffle, a wet sounding noise that is muffled through my clogged ears. “I don’t want to go.”

“Evangeline Parker, get off that couch,
now
. Show some respect for your father!”

I sit up, glaring at her. “If mourning his death and not caring how much money he leaves me isn’t showing respect, then he must have taught me wrong. Get out of here.”

Clarissa’s eyes widen. “Don’t you tell me what to do in my house, girl.”

I sneer at her, not sure where all the venom is coming from, but unable to care. “You don’t know if it’s your house yet, Clarissa. Why don’t you go downstairs and find out?”

She whirls around at that one and quickly leaves the office. I close my eyes and try to take a deep, calming breath. I don’t know what this is; bad luck, God turning His back on me, karma, payback for not getting Tony the help he needed, being born under an unlucky star. I just know that I hate it. I hate it and it hurts.
Damn
, it hurts.

Part of me wants to go down and listen to the will, learn what will become of me. I know Uncle Greg is the executor though, and he can tell me all the details later. Besides, does it really matter what happens to me? I’m just a shell of a human being, a shadow of my former self, really. Clarissa could send me away, and I doubt anyone would even notice my absence. I was more alive, braver and more resistant and less scared
with
Tony that I am without him. I don’t know how that can be, unless it just proves that I really can’t stand on my own, without him, just as I always feared.

I feel so small and alone right now, and I move to huddle in my dad’s big leather chair, trying to shrink away from the world. I can’t, though. It’s still there, pressing in on me from all places, all directions and I am helpless to stop it. My ears pop and then start to roar, blocking out all other sound. I’m sobbing hard now, gasping for air, but they aren’t tears just for my dad.

They’re for everyone I’ve hurt; Tony, my dad, Zeke, Cindy, Mr. Quain, Mr. and Mrs. Stull, even Clarissa now.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, and my voice sounds far away through my roaring ears. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

I tell myself not to; try to force myself to keep my arms down, but the guilt and the need to make myself face it are too strong. I grab my phone from the desk and have to dial twice to get my trembling fingers to work correctly. I almost fumble my voicemail password, but finally I get it, and I’m breaking down harder than I ever have as Tony’s voice fills my ear.

“Evie? Evie! I don’t know how you could do this to me. I loved you, I gave you everything I had and you just left me!” Tony’s voice is crazy, terror filled, hoarse with tears and rage and sadness all rolled into one awful sound. “I told you not to. I told you that we were supposed to be together forever. And then you say you don’t want me. When I gave you everything I fucking had! I love you, Evie. I love you and if you don’t want me, then I don’t want to live. So just remember that when you wake up tomorrow. Remember that when you listen to this. I’m doing this for you. Because I love you.”

Tires squeal in the message, and then comes the part that breaks me, that always just shatters me into a million pieces. I can hear Zeke’s voice in the background, know it’s Zeke even though it sounds nothing like him at all, a high-pitched, horrified scream, just barely able to be heard through the phone, through Tony’s car windows as he takes off.

Don’t worry, Cindy. Don’t you fucking worry. Don’t look down. Don’t worry about your fucking legs. You’re going to dance again, do you hear me?

And then Tony is back. “This is for you, Evie. I love you. I can’t do this without you.”

No beep, no warning. Just the end of the message. It doesn’t matter. I’m crying so hard that I’m shaking, practically falling out of the chair because I’m hyperventilating and can’t catch my breath. The phone falls out of my hand and to the floor but I don’t notice.

It’s starting. My fingers feel numb and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. My arms are covered in goose bumps and I’m starting to drift off. My mind is trying to escape, to deal with everything by avoidance, and I won’t allow it. I feel a scream building in my throat and I let it out, keeping it low in my throat, not caring if anyone hears.

I scream again and again without opening my mouth, until my throat refuses to make any more noise, is raw and I still try to scream because it hurts and rips my throat even though I’m not making any sound. It feels like my throat is bleeding, it’s so raw. I can’t even speak but it’s still not enough and I pull at my hair, dig my nails into the tender skin of my thighs and the undersides of my arms.

Nothing is helping. I can still feel myself floating away, halfway between reality and that dark place I sink into, unable to escape for who knows how long. I pound my fists against the desk and rake my nails across my legs to no avail. I don’t want to go. Dammit,
I don’t want to go!
I don’t deserve to go. I don’t deserve to escape and be free when no one else can.

“Stay
here
, dammit!” I scream, and my voice is unrecognizable, crackly as if I’ve been smoking for years. I shout it again and again, ripping at my vocal cords until when I try and speak nothing comes out no matter how hard I strain.

Still, I’m slipping away, the world hazy around me as I try desperately to cling onto it with what I have left. It’s not enough, nothing is enough and none of my usual tricks are working. I pound at the big oaken desk, harder than I’ve ever hit anything before, until I can actually hear the stress on my hands, knuckles popping and bones creaking in protest. I do it like some insane little child having a tantrum, and all I can think with every blow is
stay! Stay! Stay! STAY DAMMIT!