Waste My Time by Kelsey Clayton

 

Never ever mistake her silence for weakness. Remember that sometimes the air stills, before the onset of a hurricane.

Nikita Gill

Lightning flashes in the distance,cracking through the atmosphere with no mercy—the same way today’s revelations shattered every fiber of my being. Betrayal is just an eight-letter word, but it runs so damn deep. It’s a life-changing pain, one that you’d do anything to rid yourself of, and I’m fucking drowning in it.

“Kennedy,” Easton says, my name a broken plea falling from his lips.

“Don’t.”

He exhales heavily. “Please. You have to believe me.”

Believe him? I can hardly even look at him. “Stop talking.”

“We didn’t do anything,” he repeats for what feels like the millionth time. “I swear to God.”

“Fuck you,” I sneer. “Fuck you for thinking that makes it better. That keeping your dick in your pants excuses the fact that you lied to me for weeks. And that’s if I even believe you, because right now, I have no reason to.”

Staring out the window, I watch as the rain pounds against the glass. A part of me wants to stand in the middle of it—let it pour down on me and wash away every inkling of his touch on my skin. Rid myself of this.

Of him.

Of us.

And yet I stand here, refusing to leave the room, because if I walk out that door, I might never come back, and that's scarier than any storm.

“How did we end up here?” I whisper, the pain in my voice cutting through the silence like a razor blade.

I watch in the reflection of the glass as he runs his hands over his face. He doesn't try to answer, because there's nothing he can say that can make this better. No words can bring us back to before this. Back to when everything was perfect. Before he broke every promise he ever made me, and for a girl who will never look at him the way he wishes she would.

Two Years Earlier

Ever since middle school, I fantasized about what it would be like to go to college. The idea of getting to live with friends and be on my own, it seemed like heaven. I always have been a bit of a free spirit, but I don't think anything I pictured matched up to the real thing. For the first time in our young lives, we're treated as adults. Adults who will inevitably make really questionable decisions, but adults nonetheless.

“Are you sure about this?” Amelia questions.

I look over at my blonde bombshell of a roommate and smile. “Positive. He's not even going to know what to do with himself. I promise.”

She still looks unsure but nods anyway and loops her arm with mine. The two of us step into our first ever college party, and it's everything I thought it would be.

Red solo cups in everyone's hands.

People making out in all corners of the room.

Guys who look unfairly hot—one in particular.

For the most part, these parties are exactly like the ones we threw in high school, but the vibe is totally different. It's like we have a right to be here. Like we earned it or something.

Amelia spins around to face me, looking like she's going to spontaneously combust. “I don't know if I can do this.”

Sighing, I take my focus off the party and put it on her. “I know you can. Look at you!” I blatantly admire her perfect body. “You look fucking hot. He'd be crazy not to realize that.”

I grab her wrist and turn to find Zayn, the guy who has her nerves in a frenzy. As soon as my gaze lands on the familiar bad boy, I move to pull her toward him, but I'm stopped by a six-foot wall of sex on legs.

Fuck.

Easton Donovan is Amelia's brother, and everything wet dreams are made of. His dark brown hair hangs down into his chocolate eyes, making him flip it out of the way. And if the fact that he's drop-dead gorgeous wasn't enough, the smile he's giving his sister makes him even hotter.

“You made it,” he says to Amelia, and then his attention turns to me. “Kenna, right?”

I giggle to hide my disappointment. “Close. Kennedy.”

“Sorry, Kennedy,” he corrects himself.

Thankfully, Amelia interrupts the awkwardness like the godsend she is. “I need a drink. I'm parched. What alcohol do you have?”

“For you?” Easton narrows his eyes on her. “I have a juice box.”

“Really, E? Don't be such an alcoholic cock block.”

He nearly gags but covers his mouth with his fist. “If I ever hear the word cock come out of your mouth again, I'm going to lose my mind.”

Amelia finds a little badass inside that innocent brain of hers and smirks. “Cock. Big, hard, veiny cock.”

His face almost turns green as he puts his fingers in his ears and yells to drown out the sound of his sister's vulgar words. I can't help but laugh at their antics.

“Keg's in the kitchen,” he says with a sigh of defeat. “Just don't get carried away.”

“I make no promises,” she answers.

Grabbing my hand and leading me through the party, one thing is clear—if I want to be on Easton's radar, I'm going to need to get creative.

Okay, so maybe I'm not the most honest person in the world. For example, as Amelia and I lean against the wall with two jocks talking almost directly to our tits, I failed to mention my ulterior motive. It wasn't a lie, per se, but more an omission of truth. One that's working to our benefit, mind you, because what she has failed to notice is that Zayn and Easton have been staring at us for the last ten minutes. And as jock number two reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, Easton snaps and storms our way.

“Oh, fuck no,” he growls as soon as he's close enough, pushing himself between his sister and the football player. “Not happening, Amelia.”

She allows her brother to pull her away and over to where Zayn stands. I ignore the guy leaning over me like I'm some kind of prey and focus solely on Amelia. It's clear Easton is yelling at her, but what we need is for him to leave her alone with Zayn. They've both had eyes for each other all night, but neither one of them will act on it with him there.

A brilliant idea comes to mind and I slip out from under this douchebag's arm and make my way toward them, mentally thanking my mom for the acting classes she forced me through when I was a kid. I cover my mouth and give Easton a panicked look.

“Bathroom,” I murmur, as if I'm going to be sick.

“Fucking freshmen,” he groans. “This way, come on.”

Following him through the house, I quickly glance back and wink at Amelia in a silent “you're welcome.” Like I said, I'm not the most honest person in the world, but my heart's always in the right place.

As we reach the bathroom, Easton steps aside and gestures for me to go in. “Your porcelain throne, princess.”

I play it up with ease as I sit down on the cold floor and rest my head back against the tub. “The room is spinning.”

He chuckles, and God, it's such a good sound. “That's what happens when you drink too much.”

Keeping my eyes closed, I hear him shut the door and turn on the water. A few moments pass before a damp washcloth is being rested against my forehead and Easton sits down on the edge of the tub next to me.

“Oh, you are my favorite person right now,” I moan.

“Don't let Amelia hear you say that. She almost failed kindergarten because she wouldn't share.”

Something tells me the only one between the two of them who would be pissed about sharing right now is him. If my plan worked, and as long as Amelia didn't pussy out, she and Zayn should be playing tonsil hockey right about now.

“Shh. Don't tell her,” I slur.

Easton snorts. “Your secret is safe with me.”

My eyes blink open, and I look up to find him already staring back at me. “And what about me? Am I safe with you?”

The corner of his mouth raises. “Definitely not.”

I try to think of a snappy comeback. Something flirty and fun that could drive this home. And if I hadn't drank so much, I'd probably be able to do it. But before I can say anything at all, the room starts actually spinning, and the next thing I know, I'm lunging to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

Sexy, Ken. Real fucking sexy.

GRABBING AS MUCH of my stuff as I can find, I shove it into a duffel bag. I guess one of the benefits of dating someone with severe commitment issues for two years is that you don't leave too much behind. Still, there's the occasional pair of pajamas and a few sweatshirts lying around.

Tears blur my vision and pour down my face no matter how much I told myself I wouldn't cry. I need to get the fuck out of here. That's what I need. I just need to go.

“Kennedy, stop,” Easton pleads, coming behind me and resting his hand on my elbow. “Don't do this.”

I whip around and push him away. “I'm not the fucking one to blame here, Easton! You are! You did this!”

“I know,” he agrees. “And I'm so sorry. Tell me what I can do to fix it?”

“Fix it?” My stomach churns. “You think this is just something you can fix? You swore to me that she wasn't a threat. That you'd always be honest with me.”

The rage building in me starts to bubble over the surface. Anger masks the sadness, and I bask in the fury because it's better than drowning in the pain. I step closer to him and pound my fists against his chest.

“You're an asshole! A fucking asshole! A lying, cheating, piece of shit!”

He stands there and allows me to beat on him, screaming insults and obscenities in his face, until he doesn't. His hands grab the sides of my face and he spins us around faster than I can react to it. His mouth molds over my own, and he kisses me with such an intense need it almost knocks the wind out of me.

Our tongues tangle together, and for a moment, I'm lost in the feeling he's always spurred inside me. It covers the pain and erases the devastation, leaving behind a need to stay wrapped in his arms no matter what. It's toxic and manipulative, and yet I'm greeting the devil with open arms because it just feels so damn good.

He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against mine, our heavy breathing mixing together in the air. “Please, baby. I...”

Time freezes, and I wait for the three words I've been longing to hear. The words he hasn't said because he claims the institution of it all is just a massive mind fuck. The words that I've told him numerous times, only to be let down when I don't get them in return.

“...don't want to lose you.”

My stomach drops, and I'm right back to where I was before he made everything hazy with his talented lips. I always tried to tell myself that he feels it. That he proves it in the way he looks at me. In the way he holds me at night. But I've been fooling myself.

“Did you ever say it to her?” I ask, eyes clenched shut, terrified of the answer.

“Say what?”

Inhaling, I force myself to look at him. “The three words you won't say to me.”

I will him to say no, that this twisted view on love has been something instilled in him from a young age. But as he steps back and looks down at the ground, I have my answer, and it hurts so much more than I thought it would.

“So it's just me then?”

He runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. “No. It's not you. You're perfect. I just...”

“You gave your heart away when you were seventeen, and you never got over her,” I hiccup over a sob. “It's fine. I get it.”

As I walk around him to continue packing my stuff, he stops me. “It's not that.”

“Then what is it?” I question exasperatedly. “Tell me, please. Because nothing you say can be worse than what's going through my mind.”

He reaches forward and runs his knuckles down the side of my face. “I care about you.”

And just like that, his touch is no longer comforting. It's burning and cruel, like a branding iron meant solely for torture. I take a step back and wrap my arms around my stomach.

“That’s the problem! You care about me. You want me to be happy. You like spending time with me. But you love her.” Tears flow like a broken faucet as I almost choke on my words. “I get the holding hands in public and kisses goodnight, but she gets the only part of you I want. She gets your heart. I just can’t handle being your second choice anymore, Easton. It hurts too much.”

“You're not—” He starts to fight me on it, but as I turn away from him, he stops and exhales before marching out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

As soon as I'm alone, my legs give out and I crash to the floor. I cover my mouth with my sleeve to try and keep the sobs in, but it's no use. My head falls back against the bed, and for the first time in years, I wish I could go back to the best night of my life and choose differently.

Two Years Earlier

Parties for no reason are one thing. They're fun and a good way to let loose after a long week of classes. But celebration parties? Those are on another level. The energy is intense and intoxicating even without booze. It may only be the first game of the year, but we're drinking like it's the championship.

“Do you think Mason is hot?” Amelia asks.

I tilt my head to the side. “I mean, yeah, he's good looking.”He's no Easton though, I think to myself.“Why? Are you thinking of going for him?”

Her nose scrunches. “Not really, but he keeps coming onto me, and I do like the attention.”

Surprise fills my expression as her cheeks pink. “What about Zayn?”

“Zayn has made it very clear that we're just friends.”

I snort. “Right. Sure. Because friends go to second base all the time.”

She rolls her eyes. “He took that back, remember?”

“That's not a thing,” I inform her stoically.

“It is to him.”

I feel bad for Amelia. She's had a crush on Zayn since she was a kid, and when they hooked up in his room the night of the first party, she thought she was finally getting what she wanted. However, that dream was crushed the second he told her that they couldn't be together. That hooking up was a drunken mistake.

Fucking asshole. I'll show him a drunken mistake.

“Then screw it,” I announce. “Let Mason make his move. You're so much better than waiting around for a guy who doesn't deserve you anyway.”

“And Mason does?” she quips.

Mason Lockhart is NHU's prized quarterback and grade-A douchebag. He's got a bit of a reputation for being a tool and doing some shady shit, but as long as you're careful around him, he's pretty harmless.

“Definitely not,” I answer. “But I'm not telling you to marry the guy. Just use him as a distraction. An ego boost, if you want to call it that. No feelings. No strings attached.”

She seems unsure, but before she can answer, the devil himself comes over and drapes an arm over her shoulder. Amelia blushes and turns away, while I give him a look that tells him if he hurts my best friend, I'll make his life a living hell.

“You good here?” I ask my best friend. “’Cause I need another drink.”

Glancing up at Mason and then back at me, she nods. “Yeah, I'm good.”

I push through the crowded party and make my way over to the keg. Sometimes, there's nothing better than a cold beer to make your worries melt away. However, as I head back toward Amelia and Mason, I spot Easton coming through the front door.

Fuck. He will cock block Amelia any chance he gets, and if he sees it's Mason, that'll only make it worse. I quickly pass my drink to a girl walking by and hurry toward Easton, stepping in front of him to make sure he sees me and no one else.

“Never expected to find you here,” I say.

He looks me up and down and chuckles. “Oh yeah? Why's that?”

Shrugging, I give him my best smile. “I just figured you were too cool for jock parties.”

“You're here. Are you saying you're not cool?”

His response is smooth, and paired with his flirty smirk, I'm fucked. I wrack my brain for something sassy to snap back with, but I come up empty. The only thing I can focus on is the way he's checking me out with such patience—like he has all the time in the world and isn't trying to hide his intentions at all.

With all the confidence I can muster, I straighten my shoulders and put two fingers under his chin, lifting his gaze back to my face. “My eyes are up here.”

He licks his lips. “I'll get there, babe. I like to save the best for last.”

My cheeks pink as I chuckle. “Come on, Casanova. Let's get me a drink.”

EASTON COMES BACK INTOthe room to find me still curled in a ball on the floor. I lift my head just enough to look at him through my bloodshot eyes. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair as he comes to sit next to me.

“I thought you would have left by now,” he confesses.

I hum sadly. “Me too, but every time I try to convince myself to go, I can't.”

“Then don't.” It comes out like a whisper but sounds more like a plea. “Stay and let me fix this.”

Fix this.Like it's just a broken toy or something he can put back together with glue or tape. As if he didn't betray me like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. The idea of giving him the ability to ruin me further makes my stomach churn, but the thought of being without him isn't any better.

My shoulders sag, and I rest my head on his shoulder, every broken piece of me clinging to him like a lifeline, because I love him, even if he’s in love with her.