Hold Me by W. Winters

Ella

This party feels like a funhouse and I’m in the middle, distorted by all the mirrors, too hot and drunk and a mess.

“Like I said, whatever you tell them, I’ll agree with.”

It didn’t quite hitme at first when he said that in the car, or maybe it did and I just played it off. But the more time passes, the more upset I get. A drink down and he’s not beside me. He’s staying back and it feels like I’m here alone.

There’s a heat, a longing, a stirring of anxiousness that’s just getting worse and worse.

I want another drink and then another.

He can’t even agree that we’re an item? I shouldn’t have come in here without dealing with it first, but here we are.

He’s stayed back and behind me, not by my side. He’s there, though, I remind myself. He’s here, we’re just … I don’t know what we are.

With two drinks in, I’m already feeling it, and every passing second he’s not by my side, I feel more and more betrayed.

“You good, girl?” Kelly asks, clinging to my side before kissing my cheek.

“Just pissed,” I whisper and it takes a second for her to register it, more reading my lips than hearing it over how loud everything else is.

With her brow knitted she asks why, and I nod toward Zander.

All I asked him was what if we were to be called “an item” and he couldn’t say that we were. It hurts. I tried to pretend like it didn’t, but alcohol has a way of making lies go quiet. I haven’t forgotten what Kam said. I haven’t forgotten what Damon said.

“Fuck him,” Kelly murmurs and then peers across the patio to a hoard of men. Some of them I know, one of them I know-know, and others I don’t.

“I don’t want them. I want him,” I tell her and she nods.

“Maybe a little attention from them and Zander will shape up?” she suggests and I shake my head. “I’m not … no. I don’t know.” My head is fuzzy.

Minutes pass and more people gather. Only one person mentions James. With everyone talking over each other, it barely registers. I only know it was spoken to me because the group around me goes quiet. I stare back at a tall man, his hair cropped back and his tie loosened around his neck.

“Just, I’m just … I wanted to give my condolences is all.”

My heart does that pitter-patter thing. Before I can even answer, Zander’s on one side of me, telling me someone named Arthur is looking for me and Kelly’s on the other side, a flute of champagne that was in her hand, being pushed into mine.

“Drink up, baby.”

It feels like stumbling, as I turn my back on the group, Zander’s arm around my waist as he leads me away.

“You all right?” he questions and I throw the flute back, letting the bubbles worm their way down my throat.

My eyes prick and suddenly everything isn’t so great and wonderful.

“It fucking hurt,” I say to him and breathe out, but not daring to look him in the eye. If I do, I think I’ll lose it. The one night of all these nights where I need to simply be and be seen, and this has come over me.

“I know,” he says and then I realize he’s talking about James. Fuck, it’s a knife to the chest. I struggle to respond at all. In a sea of people, I glance around them, feeling the cool breeze against my hot face, and I feel alone. With the exception of this man.

“Do you love me?” I ask him, barely breathing.

His striking eyes hold me for a moment, and I think he’ll admit it. He has to feel it, doesn’t he? He speaks his words carefully. “Ella, you’re drunk.”

I’ve felt my heart break before. I’ve felt it shatter. It belonged to someone else back then. Someone who would never dare to hurt it. “Don’t do this. Not here.”

“Right,” I answer him in a single breath, attempting to compose myself. Swallowing thickly, I push it all down. All I can hear are my heels clicking on the ground as slow as my heart beats.

With my heart beating faster, I walk with him and accept the bottle of water. “No more drinks,” he orders. “Only water.”

Fiddling with the cap, I nod in agreement.

Why does it hurt as much as it does? It feels like the rain has poured down around me.

All because he couldn’t say we’re an item?

No. No it’s not that. It takes me minutes to register that I asked him if he loves me.

He knows. He must know, that I love him. Fuck, I am drunk. I’m far more than tipsy.

The conversation plays on repeat. Then the one with Kam insinuating we aren’t on the same page. Then the one with Damon, and how my feelings may be displaced.

“We’re going to steal her, if that’s all right.” Kelly’s voice rings clear over my head in the dark corner behind the bar that Zander’s cornered me into.

“I think it may be time for us to head out.”

“You just got here.” Kelly’s objection reflects both her shock and disappointment.

“I’m not leaving. I’m fine.” My voice is clear and my decision firm as I look Zander in the eye.

“So … about stealing her away? I think she should see some people. Some influential people Kam mentioned?” she tells him. Asking him permission and not me.

He doesn’t answer her, other than to nod. There’s a concerned look in his eyes and he tells me, I’ll be right behind you.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight,” he warns Kelly who only laughs, a sweet friendly sound before whispering to me that whatever he said he can shove up his ass and that she loves me.

“Should we hide in the bathroom?” she asks me and I shake my head. Half of me wants to leave, while the other half wants to feel it, and let it all go.

“Smile on,” she says and like a ghost taking over, I grin entering the room and hollowing out to let the former me show. That’s what this night is about. This is for me, not him.

* * *

As the clock ticks by,and hour passes easily, I laugh when everyone else does. I smile for the cameras. I accept hug after hug and give comments to the gossip columnists when they ask for one that would make Kam proud. I’ve been through hell and back. If Zander thinks his commitment problems are enough to break me, he’s the one who’s got a new thing coming.

I’m fine. I’m better than fucking fine.

He’s barely approached me, watching from a few feet away as if he’s merely security. He must know he fucked up. He called in backup. I spotted Silas across the room and nearly rolled my eyes. It’s yet another betrayal. It fucking hurts. It feels like a breakup. Like I did the one thing I knew I would do. I pushed him and he refused to move with me.

I have issues, yes. But so does he. And it’s not my responsibility to take his problems on. That’s what I tell myself anyway, as I’m looking at my ex from another life.

That … and to do what Kelly suggested, to show Zander why he needs to commit.

John, a handsome lover from years ago, circles the edge of the crowd, his face disappearing and reappearing as people talk into my ear and ask me the same stream of questions over and over. How are you? Are you settled at the lodge? We missed you.

I just wish it didn’t hurt so much to be here hearing how much they missed me and being reminded over and over that I was gone. Being reminded of what happened.

Suddenly, the music feels like an assault, and the crush of their bodies close to mine, and the heat of all that skin so close by. The autumn night can’t compete with the number of people here and it’s too much. It was easy to be irritated at Zander before, when he kept pointing out that we could leave any time, when he insisted on going over our signals again and again, and now it turns out he’s right.

I hate that. It feels like a rock at the pit of my gut to be wrong about this. But if I’m being honest, it’s not the party that feels like such a raw, open wound. It’s him. I had him in my bed, where I thought he belonged, and he didn’t choose me.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes but I blink them away before they can fall.

“You need another drink.” Trish’s face swings in close, her eyes bright.

“Hell yes I do.” Zander’s order be damned.

She throws her arms over her head and cheers, and I echo it. My voice is too weak to do it justice but it doesn’t matter. The music is loud enough to cover it up. The music is loud enough to cover everything up, except Zander.

I can feel him watching me. His eyes on my skin are a palpable burn, even when I can’t see him through the crowd. I know he can see me.

I don’t look at him at all. It’s one of the more difficult challenges of my lifetime, keeping my eyes away from his. Screw him. I don’t want to look back at him and see all that emotion in his eyes. It’s bullshit. It’s not for me.

Trish comes back with two shots and we knock them back together. Oh, it’s a bad idea. She pulls me into the circle of friends and into an argument about which shots are better, and who would rather have a full mixed drink, and who’s really a wine girl.

“Wine,” I hear myself say. “I know I just took a shot, so it doesn’t make any sense. I love wine at the end of the day.”

Trish agrees with me, and it becomes reality—I’m still a woman who loves a glass of wine at the end of the day. It’s a lie. It’s not true. There’s no wine in my house, and even if there was, drinking too much of it makes my throat hurt. I love the idea of having wine at the end of the day but I don’t love the reality. Which thing is more real?

I love the idea of being with Zander but not the reality of him rejecting me. Of him choosing to guard his heart over protecting mine, or his past over me, or whatever he’s choosing.

Maybe he loved Quincy so much, he’ll never love again.

Maybe I should be like that. Maybe James should be my one and only love.

“Another shot!” Kelly calls out and I don’t hesitate to down it.

I thought Zander would choose me. I thought he wanted me. I’ve been over his lap, I’ve had his hands everywhere on my body, I want it now.

I want it now.

I want all of it. The conversation floats around me and none of it sinks in. I’m pushing past comfort for my voice, so I stop answering questions and put on a big, fake smile.

No one notices.

Not a single person notices that I’m broken, and that I’m desperately sick of being broken. I’m so tired. It’s a tiredness that sinks into my bones and weighs me down to the floor. I’m so damn heavy with it.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

John. My ex. He’s not like Zander, not dark and handsome. He’s blond and beautiful and an all-American kind of guy who could be in a men’s magazine. I tip my face up to look at his. “Hi.”

We broke up a lifetime ago, right after college. Two different people going two different directions, we said. It took me by surprise, though. I’m always the one who’s surprised. I never see it coming. But who cares about all that? He’s standing in front of me right now, and Zander’s not. Zander didn’t want to be in that place.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you out. How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here to talk to.” I touch his wrist, a little flirtatious touch, just so Zander will see. “Some of these conversations.” I roll my eyes.

“I know.” John shakes his head.

This is how we were. Other people had conversations, and we were better. Up until the day John decided he was better than me. Times are different now. I’m the one with all the mystery. I could cry from how ironic it is. The worst things in your life end up making people more curious about you. I had money before, but now I have whispers and rumors and the ability to turn heads just from walking into a room.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

“I do need one.”

Another lie. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. When is Zander going to step in? When is he finally going to choose me? I know I’m pissing him off every time I put a glass to my lips. I know it, and he’s not doing anything at all about it. I edge closer to John and let him take me to the bar for another shot. I let him lift it to my mouth for me and put my arm around his waist when he tips it up so I can drink.

Choose me.

Just choose me.

He doesn’t.

John starts talking to me about his job, about all the bullshit conversations that go on there, and I make up a story. I make up a story where I’m not under care in my own home, and I’m not struggling every day to keep my head above water, and I’m not suffering through this party with a broken heart because Zander didn’t want to be with me the way I want to be with him.

Zander doesn’t enter into it at all. I never mention his name. I don’t say that he’s the man who’s been watching me this entire time. I don’t say that it’s foolish of me to want him the way that I do, because it’s not allowed. Because he’s always been forbidden. I don’t say any of it.

I bottle it up and touch John’s arm and his waist and I throw my head back and laugh at his stupid jokes even though it hurts my throat to do it. I take another shot even though I’m already too drunk, already past the point where I should have stopped and gone home.

A dark-haired woman who looks put together and not very drunk at all steps between John and me, getting his attention. She has perfect red lips and a dress that’s cut low in the back. She looks hot, and I’m a mess. I’m a mess who wants Zander and wants her life back and maybe I’ll never get it. Maybe I’ll only have Zander in my bed and I’ll never get to have him and I’ll always be this person who wants what she can’t have. Who wants it so badly she breaks her heart every day of her life thinking about it.

“Sorry about that,” John says. “You all right?” he asks with humor in his tone and a short laugh. He cups my chin, and his touch is warm.

“I’m fine,” I whisper and then clear my throat.

“You look sad that I left you.”

I lie. “I was.”

His shoulders rise with a pride and wanting I’ve seen from him before. He leans in close to whisper in my ear. “I guess I shouldn’t leave you alone again then.”

Alone.

Zander’s so far away that he left me alone.

My heart tinks.

“I need some fresh air.” The air in this covered patio isn’t enough for me. It’s too warm and too full of other people. On one end of the bar there’s space. The gap between the bar and the railing is so narrow here that the bartenders can’t fit on this side. Oh—one of those L-shaped bars. I see it now.

“Remember how we used to let it all go?” I ask him, eyeing the edge of the railing.

John grins and asks, “You want to?”

I only nod, feeling my heart race.

It was a different time and for different reasons. But right now, it’s all I want to do. Let it all go.

John helps me hoist myself up on the other side, abandoning the shot glass I’ve been holding, and stand up.

I’m so hot, and I can’t be hot anymore.

“You ready?” he asks at the same time that I hear Zander shout out. As I close my eyes, he’s there, staring from so far away.

All it takes is two steps.

One step to the edge of the bar. The next step to the railing.

Two steps. One jump, and I’m sailing through the air, off the side of the railing, going down fast.