A Dose of Pretty Poison: Chapter 11

There’s something wrong with me.

I mean, there has to be, right? Why else would I be sitting here, staring at my phone and waiting for a text I know is never going to come?

Waking up the next morning to find out Hayes had already left was a blow to my ego. It’s not that I thought I would wake up to cuddles, forehead kisses, and breakfast in bed. But I had mistakenly let myself hope that we would at least talk about it the next morning.

And you know what they say about hope—it breeds eternal misery.

After I interrupted his game of pool and all but handed myself over on a silver platter, I made a promise to myself that I would never look so damn desperate again. So, I gave Mali my phone for the day and told her not to let me text him for at least the next twenty-four hours.

She did great. I’ll give her that. She forwarded all my calls to her phone, and then locked my phone in her car. No amount of begging and/or threatening was enough to convince her to give it back.

Seriously, if anyone ever tries torturing information out of her, they’re going to be left disappointed. The girl just doesn’t crack.

I swear, there was a method to my madness. Not saying anything to him for at least a day accomplishes three things. First, it gives him the opportunity to reach out first. Second, it keeps me from looking desperate for his attention. And third, it forces me through the part where the urge to text him is the worst, which makes it easier to not text him after that.

Except, scratch that last part, because after Mali gave me my phone back, I didn’t last more than twenty minutes before I texted him, asking to talk.

“Ugh,” I groan, throwing myself down onto Mali’s bed. “I’m so fucking sick of the hot and cold.”

She doesn’t look up from her phone. “So you’ve said.”

“I mean, seriously. How can he kiss me and then go right back to acting like I don’t exist?”

“The damn nerve,” she mumbles, and I smack the phone out of her hand. “Okay, rude. I’m not the one who left you with metaphorical blue balls.”

“Does the offer to kick his ass still stand?” I question.

She tilts her head from side to side. “If you catch me in a shitty enough mood, I’m sure you could get me to knock him around a little. But I don’t think you honestly want me to do it.”

Tossing my phone to the end of the bed, I sigh heavily. “I might if he doesn’t at least have the common courtesy of answering my text.”

“How do you know he saw it?”

I let my head flop toward her side of the bed. “He has read receipts on.”

“Oh,” she says, her lips staying in a puckered circle for a moment. “Maybe he’s still trying to figure out what to say.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That.” My finger gestures at her face. “Telling me what I want to hear instead of being honest and risking hurting my feelings.”

She smiles and reaches over to play with my hair. “But you’re my little baby princess. When you’re sad, I’m sad.”

“Mali,” I warn.

Her nose scrunches in disgust. “Ew, don’t say my name like I’m in trouble.”

“Stop trying to change the subject.”

“Stop trying to get me to crush your hopes and dreams,” she counters.

As if I lack even a minimal amount of self-control, I sit up and grab my phone to see if he answered.

I drop my phone into my lap and rub my hands over my face. Things were better before—when I had myself convinced that shit with him was just an unrealistic fantasy inside my head. That there was no chance in hell of it ever actually happening.

Taking a deep breath, I crack my neck and then look at Mali. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

Mali whines. “Lai.”

“Please? I know it’s going to hurt, but I need to hear it.”

She thinks about it for a second before rolling her eyes and putting her phone down. Her bed moves as she sits up and holds my hands. The way she looks into my eyes tells me that everything she’s about to say is meant to help me, not hurt me—even if the latter is inevitable.

“I think he’s no good for you,” she says bluntly. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your first love and, in your eyes, he can do no wrong, but he doesn’t deserve you. The way he’s been acting lately only proves as much.”

A single tear slips out and slides down my face. “It’s all been a game to him, hasn’t it?”

Wiping my face with her sleeve, she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t say that. I think Hayes clearly feels something for you. I don’t know how strong those feelings are, but I don’t think the last couple weeks would have happened if he didn’t feel some kind of way.”

Her words make me feel a little better, knowing I’m not completely delusional.

“But,” she continues, and my stomach churns, “that doesn’t mean he plans on ever acting on those feelings. At least not without running away immediately after like he still believes girls have cooties. And if he’s not willing to talk about it, I’m not really sure there’s anything you can do about it.”

I know she has a point. Guys have a tendency of being stubborn as hell when it comes to avoiding things they don’t want to deal with, and Hayes is even worse, but it still stings. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I had hoped he’d at least agree to talk—even if it was always going to end with my heart in pieces.

I’m not even sure what to do here. Do I try to move on and get over him, as impossible as that might be? And if so, do I let him get away with ignoring me, like what happened meant nothing to either of us?

No.

He doesn’t get to treat me like a plaything. Other girls might let him get away with his hot and cold behavior, but I’m not other girls. And I’m sure as fuck not going to let him off the hook without at least getting to say my piece.

“Screw that,” I tell her, getting off the bed and grabbing my keys. “He’s going to listen to what I have to say whether he likes it or not.”

Mali’s brows raise, and I can’t tell if she’s nervous or impressed.

It’s probably both.

“What are you going to do?” she questions.

The one thing I’ve been avoiding.

The thing I couldn’t build up enough courage to do until now.

“The only thing I can do,” I tell her as I tie my hair up. “I’m going to confront him at the one place he can’t leave.”

THE WAVES CRASH AGAINST the shore while the wind whips the red flag around. It’s meant to ward off anyone looking to take a dip in the ocean, but the irony of it being right in front of the surf shop is comical. Maybe someone should make Hayes carry one of those around all the time.

It might save a few hearts.

Not mine, though. Mine’s already fucked.

His truck sits in the parking lot, letting me know he’s inside. And the fact that we’re the only two cars here says that he’s by himself. I take a deep breath.

“You can do this,” I tell myself. “He doesn’t get to treat you like your feelings don’t matter and get away with it.”

Finishing my pep talk, I muster up all the confidence I can manage in the time it takes to cross the parking lot, and push the door open.

Here goes nothing.

Hayes has his back to me as I walk in, but the bell tells him that someone is here. “Hey. Welcome to Wax and Waves.”

I stay quiet. The anger I had driving over here must have flown out the window on the way, because now I’m standing here, all I want to do is cry.

Quick, WWMD? What would Mali do?

Well, for starters, she would tell me that I’m not a doormat for him to walk all over. And she would be right. If the shit with Craig taught me anything, it’s that if I don’t want to be treated like shit, I must refuse to accept shitty treatment. I may not be able to control what someone does, but I can control how I respond to it.

When he realizes no one answered, Hayes turns around and his eyes meet mine.

“Laiken.” He says my name like it’s a sigh, which steels my backbone.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I tell him. “You can’t kiss me and then refuse to talk to me after. I don’t care if you regret it or not. I deserve better than that.”

As if he’s completely aware how in the wrong he is, he drops his head and nods. “I know.”

His answer catches me off guard. More specifically, it’s the sadness in his voice. It fucks me up, making my anger dissipate—which sucks because that was my driving force. At least if I’m pissed off, I’m not upset. And I refuse to let him see me upset.

We’re going for less pathetic, remember?

I walk deeper into the store and start looking through the shell necklaces on one of the tables. They’re beautiful, but they’re not why I’m here.

“What are we doing?” I force out, spinning around to face him.

He looks caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid. What is going on with us?”

If he’s going to put an end to whatever the hell this is, he’s going to do it to my face. Not through a text he’ll inevitably send later.

I watch as he struggles to find an answer, waiting patiently until he settles on one.

“We’re friends.”

A dry laugh echoes out of my mouth as I take a couple steps toward him. “Yeah, I don’t buy it.”

“There’s nothing to buy,” he says, but I don’t think even he believes what he’s saying.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Mm-hm. So, I take it you kiss all your friends the way you kissed me the other night?”

He looks away from me and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Of course, he doesn’t.

Even I don’t know what I want him to say. I know what I’d like him to say, but we’re not going there. Not when I have zero confidence that he wouldn’t take it back the next morning.

Leaning against the counter, I throw out a theory I’ve been tossing around my head. “You heard me that night when I was in the kitchen with Mali and Devin. You heard the conversation and then played it off like you didn’t.”

His eyes fall closed as he sighs. “I told Devin not to tell you that.”

“She didn’t. You just did.”

He exhales, muttering fuck under his breath. “Look, I didn’t want you to feel awkward or weird around me.”

I scoff. “So instead, you decided to fuck with me? You’re right, that’s much better.”

“No, Laiken.” He shakes his head. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?” With every second, I start to lose my patience. “Tell me, because from where I stand, that’s exactly what it looks like.”

His fingers lace into his hair and he pulls at it, groaning in frustration.

“What do you want me to say?” The defeated look on his face threatens to disarm me, but I didn’t come this far to back down now.

“The truth! What you’re thinking. What you’re feeling.”

He turns around and grips the back counter, though it does nothing to calm him down. His back moves with every breath he takes, and his tight grasp on the counter turns his knuckles white.

I do my best to remove the venom from my tone. “I’m in the dark here, H.”

Throwing his hands in the air, he looks me in the eyes. “I want you, okay? When you’re around, I can’t seem to keep my eyes off you. And when we’re alone together, I lack even the most basic fundamentals of self-control.” He takes a step closer and puts his hands on the counter in front of me. “But no matter how crazy you make me, at the end of the day, you’re still my best friend’s little sister. We can’t cross that line.”

Forcing myself to look away from him, I roll my eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”

His brows raise in surprise as an involuntary laugh slips from his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“No. You’re not excused,” I sneer. “You can take your moral compass and your shitty excuses and shove them up your ass because that line you claim we can’t cross? You obliterated it the moment you sucked my cum off your fingers.”

Not giving him a chance to respond, I leave him and his shell-shocked expression behind me and march my ass right out of the shop.

My heart is racing. The adrenaline coursing through me makes it hard to catch my breath, but I’m thankful for it. Because I know that the second it’s no longer there, I’m going to cry.

I climb into my car and peel out of the parking lot. For the first time since my heart decided to latch itself to the seventeen-year-old boy with an intoxicating smile and a tattoo on his bicep, I don’t want Hayes anywhere near me.

Driving down the street, I swat away a few tears that manage to escape. I’m not just hurt—I’m aggravated, and I’m annoyed. He knew this whole time that he was never going to let anything become of us, and he did it anyway.

It was selfish, and inconsiderate, and everything I convinced myself he wasn’t, despite all the red flags that told me otherwise.

Mali is just about to get in her car when she sees me pull into her driveway, and that’s when I lose it. I scramble to get my seatbelt off and jump out of the car.

“Mal,” I hiccup.

She sighs and opens her arms just in time for me to crash into her. Sobs rack through me without mercy. They rip me to shreds and all I can do is let it happen.

“Come on, babe,” Mali says softly. “Let’s go inside.”

I sniffle and try to dry my eyes but it’s no use. “Weren’t you about to go somewhere?”

Holding me close, she starts leading me into the house. “It doesn’t matter. You come first.”

I LIE WITH MY head on Mali’s lap as she plays with my hair in the way she knows I love. It’s not something I can explain. It’s just one of those things that always manages to calm me down.

My eyes burn from crying, and even a few tears still manage to leak out, but thankfully, it’s nothing like before. At least for now, anyway.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asks after I was finally able to explain what happened. “You can’t keep putting yourself through this back and forth.”

“I know I can’t. It’s not fair to me. Which leaves me with only one option.” I grab my phone and delete his number. “I think it’s time he gets a taste of his own medicine. He’s had hot. Now let’s see how he likes the cold.”