Always Us by Lizzie Morton

 

 

 

Twenty

 

 

Abby

 

 

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

“Yes. For the millionth time, I’m fine,” I say, taking a large swig of the ridiculously strong drink Zoe handed me.

“Seriously, I’ve never seen you like that before,” says Sooz, still looking pale from the events of earlier.

“It’s called a panic attack, and I’m fine, or at least I will be once I’ve had a few more of these.”

Raising my glass, I knock the rest of it back in one. The beer from the afternoon is proving to have been good practice.

“I know I’m not one to talk, but maybe you should take it a little easier. You’ve been drinking all day and just been through something traumatic.” The worry on Zoe’s face has me pausing before I reach for another drink.

“I’m with Zoe,” says Sophie, making it official that each of the girls think I should stop drowning my sorrows in alcohol.

Never gonna happen.

“Let me get this straight. It’s ok for the two of you to constantly get wasted but when anyone else wants to get drunk it’s an issue?”

“It’s not the same and you know it,” Zoe says calmly, even though I’m pushing for an argument, anything that will help as an outlet to my feelings.

Folding my arms across my chest, I push harder.

“Enlighten me.”

She holds her hands up and says, “Look, do whatever you want, but you’ve already been sick once today. Do you want to make it twice?”

She has a point, but there’s no way I’m listening to anyone. I’m too busy wallowing in my own self-pity, which is why I grab the bottle of vodka from her hands and make my way into my tent. I don’t like how I’m acting, and I know they’ll think I’m acting like a spoilt child, but I need this time to let off steam.

If they’re all going to sit there judging me, I’ll do it on my own.

I lose all sense of time as I sit and attempt to block out the memories of the night with each sip I take from the bottle. None of them understand, but I wouldn’t expect them to. There’s only one person who saw how I truly fell apart after what happened that night in Brooklyn, and how it really affected me.

That’s why it doesn’t faze me when I hear the zip of my tent go up and Jake’s head pops through.

“Can I join in with the pity party?” Before I get a chance to answer he’s climbing into the tent regardless.

“Was there any point in asking?” A slight slur creeps into my voice.

“You sound like you’ve had more than enough already.” He goes to take the bottle from me, but I move it out of his reach.

“Jake, if you’re going to come in here and start telling me off like the others, then you might as well make your way back out because I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine, what’s the saying? If you can’t beat them, join them.”

I shrug, not caring, and finally hand the bottle to him. He takes a gulp without flinching, then another. A part of me wonders if he does it so there’s less left for me.

“I know what you’re doing …”

“I’m enjoying a drink, yes.”

“Whatever,” I reply, too tired to get into anything.

We sit in silence for a while, passing the bottle between us. In my slightly drunken haze, my eyes wander, and I find myself observing Jake’s face as he lays back and closes his eyes.

He looks so beautiful and peaceful.

He also seems content, as if he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, maybe he doesn’t. If his actions over the past few weeks are anything to go by, there is absolutely no place he would rather be, than here with me. I don’t know what to do or how to feel. All I know is I find myself mesmerized by him being here.

I blame it on the alcohol for what I do next.

Reaching out, I run my hand up his chest, loving how his muscles feel underneath his shirt. His body feels familiar, but at the same time is a distant memory. He doesn’t move or respond to me creepily touching him while he’s laid with his eyes closed. I’m almost convinced he’s fallen asleep, when suddenly he grabs my hand, stopping my exploration in its tracks.

His eyes flash open and his gaze burns into mine, silently questioning what I’m doing.

I’m saved from the embarrassment of having to explain myself, as somewhere in the distance, Zoe begins screaming at the top of her lungs. We both stumble out of the tent, to find her flapping her arms around hysterically, still screeching.

“What’s wrong? You almost gave me heart failure!” shrieks Sophie, equally distressed.

“I was attacked!”

We all turn to Shaun for answers, as they’d been sitting together, but attempting to get any information from him is useless, as he literally rolls around on the floor laughing.

“What do you mean you were attacked?” Jake looks alarmed.

Maybe her choice of words could have been better, considering the events of the night, but she continues flapping her arms around frantically.

When Shaun manages to gather himself together and stands, wiping at his eyes, he finally explains. “It was a moth.”

“You’re joking, right?” I ask in disbelief.

“It wasn’t just a moth.” Zoe zeroes in on him angrily. “It was as big as a person.”

“You’re overreacting.” Shaun’s tone turns blunt showing he’s beginning to get bored with the whole scenario.

Zoe looks to us and asks, “Have you ever seen The Mothman Prophecies?”

We all shrug, not a clue what she’s talking about.

“It was worse than that. I swear it had a body like a person and everything. I’m never going to be able to sleep again.”

Not missing a beat, Shaun seizes the opportunity to stake his claim. “That’s a shame. I can think of other things we can do instead.”

Unlucky for him, she doesn’t take the bait. “Get over yourself.”

Without another word, she climbs into the tent she is now reluctantly sharing with Shaun, after giving up on constructing her own hours ago.

“Looks like I’m in for a fun night,” he sighs, before following in after her.

Sophie moves to go back in her own tent, and I ask, “You’re not on your own, are you?”

“No, Sooz is with me.” She smiles between me and Jake before leaving us alone.

Some of my alcohol buzz has already begun to fade and I look at him awkwardly.

“You don’t have to stay with me. I promise I won’t drink anymore.”

“You think I’m going to leave you here in a tent on your own?” he replies.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. I saw the state of you back there. Plus, it’s not safe. You don’t know who’s around here and everyone is wasted. I’m not chancing you being on your own and having a random visitor, no way.”

“Jake—”

He cuts me off before I have a chance to say anything else.

“Get in the tent, Abby, or I’ll carry you in.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol affecting my judgement, or maybe it’s the fact that deep down I don’t want to say no which is why I don’t put up any more of a fight. I shouldn’t be feeling this way though, I should be focusing on Dan, perfect Dan, who gave me a perfect night. I told myself I wouldn’t do this, and I should know better than to allow myself to be alone with Jake, nothing good ever comes from it.

I climb into the tent and Jake follows closely behind. Thanks to the lack of space, I, not very gracefully, collapse on the floor on top of my sleeping bag, before attempting to explain my odd behavior earlier.

“Jake—”

Before I get a chance to say any more, I’m cut off, not with words, but with his lips as they meet with my own.

I should stop it. It’s not fair and we can’t keep doing this, going around in circles. Thanks to the alcohol and leftover adrenaline from earlier, all rational behavior goes out the window and rather than fighting it, I let his lips carry on kissing me and let his hands explore.

Doubts creep inwith memories of the night before: Dan’s lips on mine; the unsaid promises we made to each other … Then I remember how I told him wholeheartedly that everything with Jake was done when that is obviously not the case.

He must sense my hesitation, as he pulls away, panting.

“Sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing any more.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard him be so honest and let himself appear vulnerable and out of control.

I shouldn’t care about how he’s feeling, I should push him out of the tent and tell him to leave me alone, but I can’t find the strength in me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to just walk away, not when he looks so broken.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I feel lost without you, Abby. Watching you with him is tearing me apart. I can’t keep doing this, pretending I don’t feel the way I do.”

“But you’ve never told me how you feel.”

“I shouldn’t have to, I thought it was pretty obvious. You knew what I wanted, and you walked away.” He throws his hands up annoyed. “Do you think I brought you here this summer for no reason, just to have a quick catch up? I told you that you were mine and I meant it. I’m tired of these games.”

I blink and swallow nervously. I’ve never heard him speak like this. It has me squirming, itching to touch him and feel him inside me. But I can’t, I promised myself that I wouldn’t go back and do this again.

“I’m with Dan.”

“Bullshit. You barely know the guy. You’ve been on one date and suddenly he’s everything?”

“It’s more than that, he makes me feel different.”

Which is the truth. With Dan, things are simpler: we click and get along without all the drama. There’s no emotional rollercoaster like there is with Jake and I’m not scared that he’ll rip apart my heart.

“He might make you feel different, Abby, but he will never make you feel like this.”

Before I get a chance to object, his lips are back on mine, more urgently this time. He kisses me everywhere, and even though I’m riddled with guilt, my body is overwhelmed by all things Jake, refusing to stop this. Pushing me gently, back down to the ground, he lays me out on top of my sleeping bag and begins removing my clothes.

He leaves nothing to chance.

He’s not asking any more, he’s taking what he’s repeatedly told me he wants … me.

When he’s naked and hovering above me, all I can do is moan in satisfaction. He leans down, slowly kissing up the inside of my thigh, making me squirm as he moves higher.

“Don’t move,” he says then unleashes weeks of pent-up frustration. His mouth on me feels too good, and I can’t hold back the moans that fall from my lips. When he thrusts inside me, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Two years ago, I never thought I’d get the chance to feel like this again.

I thought we were done.

It’s not the same as the last time, in that small dark room. He takes his time, pulling in and out slowly, building me up, teasing and frustrating me in ways no other guy has ever been able to. It feels so wrong, but so right all at the same time. Any hope I had of feeling anything like this for anyone else is well and truly obliterated.

He spends the night making love to me, whispering in my ear, telling me how much he needs me and how I’m his, only his.