Will had a late shift at the bar, so he missed the play, luckily for me. The guys decided to pay him a visit, and maybe let him hit us up with drinks. This called for a celebration, they agreed. These guys. They just wanna get drunk, and I know it.
They don't stop talking about the play, and I try as much as I can to ignore them. The only thing that managed to distract them from the original topic was the motorcycle that parked outside the bar. It was a kick-ass black beauty, and it caught my attention as well.
The guys kept messing around with it, and Jordan even rode it and asked me to take a picture of him. What an idiot. I take Denise by the hand and tell her to just ignore them.
"Yo, cutie!" I call Will, who was busy serving two women their scotch. The women failed to hide their flirtatiousness, and Will looked like he's enjoying it. When he notices me, he quickly tells the ladies to enjoy their drinks and walks to my end of the bar.
"Hey, stranger," he smiles widely and leans his arms on the table. I can see the details of his face, and the blue in his eyes still strike me as beautiful. His thick lashes also define it's deep color even more, and I find myself staring unintentionally.
"Yeah, don't mind me," Denise interrupts whatever that was between us. I nudge her elbow jokingly, and she shrugs. The guys join in later and we ask for shots.
"Sorry, people, I need to see your IDs," Will folds his arms together. We're all amused by how he's taking his work seriously, but I'm sure he's just trying to annoy us. It doesn't really bother any of us when we all have our own fake IDs. Kyle had managed to find a guy who was able to make us fake ones that look just like the real ones. You could never tell the difference.
I get mine from under my phone case and hand it to Will. He pretends to focus on something then says, "It's fake."
"No shit," I say sarcastically.
I had only two shots and decided to call it off. I already embarrassed myself enough before. They told Will about the play and how different I looked. He asked for a picture, and each of them had already made a whole album with pictures of me. Will didn't laugh nor did he make fun of how I looked, which was weird since I anticipated laughter and mockery. Maybe I didn't look so bad after all, just different.
I notice Denise and Cody talking a fair distance away from us. It looked more like an argument than a normal conversation. Denise was moving her hands around, and at one point, she brushed her hair to the back with her hand and sighed. She placed her hands on her hips and listened as Cody spoke. It was really noisy here so I couldn't make out any of the words they said, and I wasn't able to read their lips from where I sat.
Whatever it is they were arguing about is long forgotten when they came back to sit with us. I asked Denise if everything is okay, and she laughed it off like it's stupid.
"Everything is great. What's up with you, Nicky?"
It turns out the bad-ass bike has been Will's the whole time. I knew he looked like the motorcycle type. He offered to drop me off at home, and I gladly accepted. Cody drove Denise home, which was weird considering they were arguing barely an hour ago.
Will took the longer way home, and I didn't complain. He drove at a high speed, making the wind blow my hair behind me from under the helmet, which he insisted I wear. I held his shoulders and pushed myself up. With the air brushing against my skin, my eyes closed, and the hint of alcohol in my system, I felt like I was flying. I felt rejuvenated. I felt free.
I forgot about everything that's happened in my life lately. I forgot about all the burdens and responsibilities. I forgot about all the problems and all the troubles that came in my way. I forgot about Ryan. I forgot about my feelings for him.
And I focused on me. I focussed on the person I am now. I focussed on the person I become when I'm with Will. And I know it's wrong to think that way, but I couldn't stop myself from believing that maybe my happiness lies in someone else's hands.
But I might be wrong about Will too. Just like how I was wrong about Ryan.
Or maybe I'm just overthinking things. Ryan's never done anything to hurt me so far. And he'll never do. I really hope so.
I ask Will to park near the beach before dropping me off. I wasn't ready yet to face Kat and tell her about her boyfriend. I sit on the motorcycle and Will leans against it next to me. He listens as I tell him about Marc and how I figured it out.
He doesn't interrupt me and listens carefully to every word. When I'm done, he looks at me and says, "What a dick."
"I know. He's a huge jackass."
"I'm gonna beat his ass the next time I see that man," he says. "Have you told Cody?"
I shake my head, "If I did, he would literally go beat him in his house. Cody would lose it, and that won't be any help for Kat."
"I think you should tell her," he advises. "She's an adult. she'll know how to deal with this."
"I know that. Kat is a strong woman," I look at the ground, "but this will hurt her so much."
"Yeah, but she still deserves to know."
I nod, my eyes still on the ground. I see his feet come towards me, and he stands in front of me. I look up at him and find him looking back at me.
"What?" I ask, and I hate that my voice comes out in a whisper.
"Nothing." He stares for a few seconds then shakes his head as if dismissing a thought. "Let me take you home."686Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcmDwqgWNqR
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I tell Kat what I told Will, only it was harder to say every word. She didn't say anything after I finished talking, but instead, she just sat on her side of the couch and stared at the coffee table. I didn't know what to say afterward, so I just sat and waited for her to say anything.
"You're not sure of anything, are you?" She asks. It was silent in the house, and Cody wasn't here yet. The atmosphere was unbearably tense.
"His wife—"
"She's an alcoholic," she looks at me sharply, her eyes challenging me to give her a valid answer. "She doesn't know what she's saying."
"Ryan confirmed it too, Kat." She's in denial. She's blinded by her feelings, which just happened to be for the wrong person.
"What made you think he's telling the truth?" She asks, keeping a composed face.
"I'm sorry," is all I could reply because I'm not sure if Ryan told the truth; I just know that this is the truth. She knows it too. There's no way to divert our beliefs elsewhere when reality lies just before us.
Her eyes fill with tears, and she inhales sharply. Her exhale comes out shaky as her lips start trembling. She bites down on her bottom lip and looks away from me. I watch her and feel the need to cry as well, but I maintain control over myself and shift closer to her to comfort her.
I didn't know how to console someone when they're in need of consoling, so I did what I could. I put my right arm gently around her back and squeezed her shoulder in assurance. I then bring my other arm around to hug her, and she relaxes in my arms. We stay like that for several minutes until she pulls away slowly and wipes her face before she leaves.
That was an awful thing to watch.
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