Tortured Sinner by Tessa James
Claire - 13
Johnny finally came out of his house. And the fact that I know this has me feeling like a total stalker. Over the last few days, I’ve managed to keep a close eye on his house, waiting for some actual sign of life, not just a light flipping on or off or food disappearing from his doorway.
My heart nearly thumped out of my chest when I glanced out my window and spotted him jogging down the stairs and rushing through the courtyard of our complex.
He was very much alive, and that alone made me relieved and pissed all at the same time.
Obviously, I don’t want him to die, but he could have said something to me—anything at all—after I nursed him back to life.
Maybe I’m asking too much. It’s not like Johnny requested my services. I offered them willingly. And just as I didn’t owe him anything, he doesn’t either. I shouldn’t be upset with him for my own expectations of how I think he should react.
When I dropped food off the other day, I told myself he was no longer my problem. That I had done everything I could do for him, and I would focus on my own troubles. Why can’t I stick to that? Why does he keep invading my thoughts with worries of whether or not he’s okay?
It’s infuriating, really. And I need to make it stop.
My phone buzzes, and I’m grateful when I notice that it’s not Griffin. He gave me an earful earlier, and I’m not too thrilled to go through that again. Talking to Griffin is like playing a twisted game of Russian roulette, only instead of a bullet, it’s gambling on which personality you’re going to get, and all of them are pretty crappy options. Even the nice version of him sucks because it's short-lived, only to be replaced with a hateful one after he sinks his hooks into you.
I focus my gaze on the screen at the text from the girl in my English Lit class. We exchanged numbers this morning when she invited me to go out with her and a group of her friends tonight. Apparently, there’s a few bars downtown that don’t check for I.D. and serve college students. It’s not my usual idea of fun, but considering it’s the first decent friend I’ve made since I’ve been here, I embrace the opportunity at a normal life.
Cora: Pick you up at ten?
Me: Sounds good, see you later!
I push another button and dial Rosie. If I'm going to go out and socialize with people my age, I need help picking out something to wear. We might be two thousand miles apart, but she's still my best friend and my go-to for stuff like this.
* * *
“Shots, shots, shots!” Cora cheers the second we walk into the bar.
The music is loud, and the place is crowded, but I’m determined to have a good time. I need this. Life has been so chaotic lately between Griffin and the move and…Johnny…that I need something to take my mind away from things for a little while.
"Go find a table, I'll get the first round." Cora shoves me and two of her friends into the mass of people and makes her way to the bar. Almost instantly she disappears, blending in with everyone else trying to get the bartender's attention.
One of the girls, Steff, grabs onto my hand and drags me through the horde to an empty spot near a couple pool tables.
I’m grateful for her and Cora’s can-do attitude, because I’m pretty lost.
The other friend trails behind, scoping the place out on her way.
“Earth to June,” Steff calls out to her.
“Sorry.” June does a final glance and approaches our area. “Just wanted to make sure Andrew isn’t here. I don’t really feel like dealing with that tonight.”
“Are you two still on the outs?” Steff cranes her neck to look toward the bar.
“Permanently.” June pulls out her phone.
“Good.” Steff takes a seat in one of the stools lining our table. “I never did like him.”
June lets out a laugh. “Me either.”
“Oh, whatever, you were crazy about him.” Steff reaches over and gently shoves June’s shoulder.
“For maybe one minute. Until he turned into a total tool. He’s a thing of the past now.” June turns her screen around to show us both a picture of a reasonably attractive guy. “He’s been replaced. What do you think?”
Cora comes over with a huge smile on her beautiful face and four tall shot glasses squeezed between her hands. “Doubles!”
I grab mine and wait for the rest of the girls to get theirs.
“To us,” Cora toasts.
“To us,” the rest of us cheer over the noise of the booming bar.
I down the liquid without thinking twice. It’s smooth at first, but then warms its way down my chest. That was definitely tequila.
Cora motions to the newly freed-up pool table. "You any good?"
I shake my head. “Not really.”
She breaks out in a huge smile and grabs my arm, dragging me over to it. “Me either.”
It’s not long before we’re all laughing and cheering each other on at how badly we collectively suck. Forever comes and we still haven’t finished a single game, none of us able to pocket any of the balls between our natural lack of talent and the booze that courses through our veins.
Steff and June both bought a round of drinks, more doubles from the former and something called a Washington Apple from the latter.
My head swims with fuzz, and for once, I feel freaking great.
It’s my turn to buy next, but I urge the girls that we need to pace ourselves.
My phone goes off in my pocket and I pull it out, Griffin’s stupid face on the screen.
“Nooo, don’t answer it.” Cora tries to reach and stop me to no success.
I laugh and swat away her arm.
Liquid courage has me pushing the green button and connecting the call.
“Hello,” I shout through the receiver.
“Where are you?”
“Out,” I say, matter of fact.
“No shit, Claire. Are you at a fucking bar?” Griffin sounds pissed, but it doesn’t affect me the way it normally does.
Yay, booze!
“Yes, Griff, I am. Where are you?”
Steff cups her hands around her mouth and loud whispers, "Who's Griff?"
“Who the fuck is that?” Griffin’s tone shifts to further emphasize how not okay he is with all of this.
"What do you want? I'm busy." My voice slurs together no matter how much I try to make it normal.
“You’re fucking drunk? Are you there with a guy? You’re there a goddamn week and you’re already cheating on me? You’re nothing but a slut, Claire. A dirty, ungrateful little bitch. You’re lucky I—”
Rage builds inside of me and I snap. “Shut the fuck up, Griffin. I’m lucky—what? That you didn’t give me an STD from that girl from your work? What’s her name, Shelby? Where were you last weekend? Huh?” I pause but go right back to it, not ready for him to take over the conversation the way he always does. “I’m done, Griffin. Fucking done. You and me, we’re over.”
I hang up the phone like he’s done to me so many times before.
All three of my new friends stand there wide-eyed, completely silent.
“Holy shit,” Cora finally mutters. “That was…” She looks around to the other two girls, “badass.”
My body trembles with equal parts fear and adrenaline. I’ve never taken such a tone to Griffin before. He’s always the one dominating our conversations and doing his best to make me feel small. There’s something incredibly empowering about giving him a tiny taste of his own medicine.
The mixture of emotions is sobering, too. Despite the copious amount of alcohol running through my veins, everything has become crystal clear.
“My turn,” I say through a grin. I leave them behind and head through a swarm of people toward the bar, to get our next round.
Three hours later, I’m quite literally falling off the pool table after Cora and Steff insisted that we dance on top of it.
Gentle but firm hands appear under my arms and lift me from the ground.
I open my blurry eyes and settle my sights on a beautifully broken man.
“Get the fuck off her,” Cora snaps and shoves the guy.
I swallow and blink, a pathetic attempt to stop the room from spinning out of control. Like I’m stuck in a low gravity situation, I pivot my head slowly around to piece together what’s happening. I must be really out of it if I’m hallucinating him.
“I’m trying to help.” He holds his palms up and out in front of him. “Why’d you let her get this drunk?”
Cora grips my shoulder and spins me toward her too fast. “Do you know this guy?”
I stumble and frantically fail at regaining my footing. I close my eyes and brace for impact on the floor, but it never comes. Instead, I’m caught by him again. I squint up at his bruised and busted face, noticing one of the freckles I had tried to wash away.
“What’s her name then, if you know her so well?” Cora pulls at me to break me away from him.
He parts his mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Johnny,” I whisper while raising my hand to his cheek to verify that he’s real.
He shifts his attention to me, his emerald eyes piercing through my soul. Is it the alcohol, or he is really this intense up close? It was one thing when he was in and out of consciousness from being beaten, it’s totally another while he’s fully alert.
“It’s me,” he assures me tenderly.
“Oh.” Cora blurts out. “Well, okay.”
Johnny turns back to the boss girl of our group. “I think she’s had enough for tonight.” He glances down at me. “Can you stand?”
I tilt my head. “I’m not already?”
He helps me onto solid ground, putting his arm around my torso to stabilize me. His fingers graze an exposed piece of my side, and my knees quite literally go weak.
“Come on, I’m taking you home.”