I wish the inside of my head was as quiet as the space around me. My fists clench as I work to dampen my discouraging thoughts and focus on what few positive ones I have left.
No matter how low I get, I need to remember that I’m still an expert at picking up the pieces. If self-sabotage was an Olympicsport, I’d have a case of gold medals and my picture on a special edition Wheaties box for crying out loud. I can get through this. I’ve done it a hundred times before, and I can do it again.
“Hey,” Justin abruptly sits up tall in his chair with his eyebrows raised, “I have an idea! You might not like it though.”
It’s nice that he’s still trying to help but I can’t imagine what he’s come up with. I cock an eyebrow and shift my gaze to him without fully turning my head. I don’t like the sound of it, but given my lack of options, I’m all ears.
“How about calling Warren?” he suggests. He delivers the sentence slowly, like he’s walking on eggshells. As he should, because over my dead body will I be phoning in a favor from that douchebag and he knows it.
“On second thought, I think this rock-hard bench looks just fine for a night’s stay,” I quip back with no hesitation.
“Oh, he’s not as bad as you think. He’s bailed his buddy Tripp out of here at least twice before, so he knows how it works. He’d get you out and I bet he’d even give you a ride home too.”
There’s not a chance in hell I’m calling Warren Farrow. He can gag on a Pogo stick for all I care.
“I don’t even have his number anymore,” I lie while tipping up my chin. It’s still very much in my contacts.
Three weeks ago, I attended a small fundraiser in town with the rest of the attorneys at my firm. I didn’t want to go, but in an attempt to integrate myself into the community, I tagged along. In hindsight, a terrible decision.
When I first saw Warren standing near the stage with a crowd of people around him, I might have ogled a little bit. Okay, a lot. I could blame it on the two drinks I’d already had, but the truth is that somehow his smile sparkled when his lips spread wide in an easy laugh. I couldn’t look away. He was charisma personified.
I can’t put a finger on how I was able to stifle my anxiety that night. But there was a certain type of magic between us that put me at ease.
By the time the evening was over, he’d introduced himself to me, talked with me for at least an hour, and asked me on a date. He was so friendly, and I was helplessly pulled into his glow. To say I was thrilled about the idea of going out with someone so stupidly handsome is an understatement. I’m not used to other people going out of their way to ask me to spend more time with them, and his attention toward me felt like snuggling up with a clean hot blanket fresh out of the dryer.
I thought at that moment that with a new job and meeting Warren, things were really starting to look up for me.
But it was all a game to him.
What I’d give to go back and turn him down.
“Warren is a good guy,” Justin continues to gently disagree with me. Here we go again with the endless praise for this man from every person I’ve ever spoken to in this town.
With Warren and Justin being friends, I'm sure he heard about our first date disaster. Surely, he didn’t get the other side of the story if he still thinks so highly of him.
“Are we talking about the same person?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “Because the one I’m thinking of is a selfish prick.”
That makes Justin chuckle while shaking his head. “I know you two got started on the wrong foot, but he’d show up and get you out. I know he would.”
No. Part of the reason I left the city and moved to Westridge was to distance myself from people who treated me poorly, not the least of which being my own flesh and blood. I’ll be damned if I let a boy with nothing better to do than string me along and play games with me take their place.
Behind me, a rustling of movement echoes in the small space.
“So make him post the bail,” my cellmate who’s been silent up until now suggests. “Never pay him back. Stiff him, you know?” His words are slurred, but his expression is straight and serious, like it’s an obvious idea.
Wouldn’t that be something? For the first time in days, the corners of my mouth turn up in a sly smile.
“He’s still drunk,” Justin laughs. “Maybe not the best advice.”
“Revenge isalwaysgood advice,” the still slightly drunk man defends himself. “Got anything stronger than this here coffee by the way?” He lifts his cup and twists his face hoping to gain the same sympathy from Justin that I’ve received.
“You know I don’t, Mr. Wright. And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you,” Justin lectures as he crosses his arms.
Before Mr. Wright has a chance to further plead his case, the office phone on Justin’s desk rings and he snaps it up.
“Yeah,” he says into the receiver. A few moments pass as he listens to the person on the other end of the call, and I take the opportunity to mull over the idea of calling Warren.
How funny would it be if I stiffed him after he shelled out a few thousand bucks to bail me out? The idea of pissing him off sounds better than a cool evening rain in the middle of this miserably hot Texas summer.
