Disrupt Read online

  “Is there no avoiding her?”

  “Not at all. The town is too small. We’ve all tried—separately and together—to oust her, but she’s not going anywhere until we all get on the same page and force her out. We’ve all been trying to keep things chill but more and more I’m feeling like it’s bound to blow up. I just hope she’s on good behavior tonight.”

  “That’s one thing down,” I note. “You said there was a second thing.”

  “The second thing is her on and off booty call, Jack. He used to be cool but lately, he’s been a giant douche canoe, so maybe he’s changed on account of the fact that he puts up with more of her shit than the rest of us. If it’s not that maybe it’s that he was always a jerk and she’s emboldened him to let his dick flag fly. Either way, he’s getting on a lot of nerves. And now that he and the self-proclaimed princess are in an off booty call phase, he’s kinda being a creeper. I’ve legit shot him down ten times in the last few months.”

  I make a mental note to avoid Jack but don’t get to ask any more questions because we’ve arrived at Frank’s, one of only two bars in the town. Julie says the other bar, Seasons, draws the tourists, so the locals stay away. Stepping through the door to Frank’s, I smile. I was expecting a dive, but this is actually nice. Everything is done in tones of wood and brass, with tons of signs for different beers on the walls. At the back right of the room, there’s a giant neon arrow pointing toward a set of stairs. “The real crowd is down there,” Julie explains. “Up here is chill—down there is for dancing. We’ll get to that later—once we’re good and loosened up.”

  Laughing, I follow her lead as she guides us to a group of people. After we take seats in the two empty chairs (conveniently next to Morrow), Julie introduces me to the other people at the table—her friends Chip, Sammi, Kyle, Jack, Camreigh and of course the one and only Morrow.

  Right away, I can tell three things. The first is that Morrow likes Julie, too. The second is that Julie was dead on with her assessment of Sammi. The girl is not out and out rude, per se, but her attitude clearly shows that she thinks she’s the queen bee of everything. The third thing is that Jack is that guy. The one who keeps a running tally of the ass he’s gotten so he can boast about it whenever the mood strikes. My freshman roommate called it little dick syndrome.

  Once the introductions are out of the way the guy seated directly across from me, Kyle, leans forward and smiles. His shaggy blonde hair and green eyes give him a distinct surfer boy look. “I’m going to order a round for the table to celebrate your arrival in town,” he announces. Raising a hand, he gets the attention of the closest waitress. When she arrives at the table Kyle gestures to me. “What’s your poison, new girl?”

  I ignore Julie’s not so subtle elbow connecting with my side as I look up at the waitress. “Do you have Corona?”

  “Sure do.”

  “I’ll take a Corona and a slice of lime or lemon, if you’ve got one or the other.”

  She quickly jots it down on her pad. “Got it.”

  After the rest of the table orders and the waitress heads for the bar to get our drinks, Kyle leans forward again. “Do you know you’re the talk of the town?”

  My stomach drops at his words and I frown. “Um, no. Why?”

  “Small town, beautiful girl. You’re making favorable impressions all over the place.”

  Jesus, he just gave me a heart attack. I’m glad I’m not to talk of the town for anything bad, though. I bite my lip when Julie jabs me again. She’s about as subtle as a cokehead on a Buddhist retreat.

  Ignoring her, I laugh as I fan my cheeks with my hand and smile at Kyle. “You scared me for a minute there,” I tell him.

  He laughs and then winks at me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out. Aside from passers-through, we don’t see many different faces around here. It’s been over seven years since we got a new resident and since that one is about as friendly as a rabid dog, you stand out.”

  He has to be talking about Donovan. Before I can confirm it, Sammi snickers and tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder as she leans forward to look at Kyle. “Ew, why would you bring that ugly fucking loser up?”

  My immediate and visceral reaction is to tell her to go fuck herself, which leaves me a little stunned. I wonder why I care so damn much that she’s talking shit about someone who can’t stand me even as I hold myself back from saying anything.

  “Nice, Sammi. Real believable too since you spent years saying he was the hottest thing on two legs. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re only salty because he’s never paid you a lick of attention.” Julie snaps, her tone ice-cold.

  I let out a relieved breath. Being new in town, I’m thinking I can’t afford to start shit—but I’m not okay with the way Sammi just spoke about Donovan. I don’t even know why—it just bothers me. A lot. Even if it’s only because he’s a guest at the motel, I’m glad Julie spoke up for him.

  “It’s annoying how you always stick up for him,” Sammi whines.

  Her little pout is enough to make my teeth grind together. I send a silent thank you to the bar gods when the conversation is halted by the arrival of the waitress with our drinks. After she sets my Corona down, I pull the lime up from the opening of the bottle and give it a good squeeze before pushing it down with my index finger.

  “I guess with him living at your motel you have to defend him. Still,” Sammi drawls from across the table. “You should know that when you stick up for him, we all assume it’s because you want to ride his dick.”

  So much for not starting shit. I lean forward to say something but get cut off by Morrow slamming his fist down on the table.

  “That’s fucking enough. Do not talk to her like that,” he growls as he puts his free arm around Julie’s shoulders. “We’re not doing this with you tonight, Sammi. Stop being a goddamn bitch who lives to start shit and create drama or find other people to annoy. Real talk, I’ve had it and I’m not going to put up with it anymore.”

  I shrink back and take another sip of my beer as the attention of everyone at the table turns to Sammi. I hold in a snicker as her lower lip starts to wobble. Her boo boo face is about as real as a Kardashian/Jenner ass. My God, if the price of keeping the peace is putting up with her, it’s too damn high. I’d have cut her off eons ago—proximity be damned.

  “Why are you being so mean to me?” she asks, her voice shrill.

  I love when people ask questions with obvious answers. She’s a dick and he’s not putting up with it. That’s not mean at all. Silently, I applaud him for sticking up for Julie.

  “Get over your fucking self,” Morrow snaps.

  When Sammi opens her mouth to respond, Kyle makes a dismissive gesture with his hand and stands up. “I second what Morrow said. We’re all fucking done, Sammi.” Turning his head, he looks my way. “Hey new girl,” he calls.

  I cock my head and raise an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

  “Wanna dance?”

  Getting away from this table sounds perfect. No sooner do I nod than Chip, Morrow, Julie, and Camreigh stand up as well. Leaving Jack with Sammi, we all head to the other side of the bar and head into the dance area.

  “Sorry about her,” Julie mutters as we walk.

  “Craziness,” I answer in a low voice. “Is she legit always like that?”

  “More and more of the time these days,” she replies. “It’s getting hard to pretend everything’s okay, especially with Kyle and Morrow no longer willing to play her game. These past few weeks have been rough. I figured if anything went down tonight it wouldn’t happen for a few hours. Guess I called that wrong.”

  I shrug as we walk into the room and start dancing to Fall out Boy’s “Thnks fr the Mmrs.” With the exception of Julie (who is driving and therefore only having one drink), the rest of us alternate between taking shots and dancing. About thirty minutes in, Jack and Sammi come downstairs. Morrow completely ignores her—which isn’t hard to do when he’s so focused on Julie— while the rest of
us do our best to act like nothing shitty went down back at the table.

  By the time two hours has passed, I’m borderline drunk and very, very thirsty. Tapping Julie, I motion to the stairs. “Gotta go to the bathroom—I’ll be back.” She pulls out of Morrow’s arms to follow, but I shake my head. “Stay,” I yell over the music. “I’ve got this.”

  Once she nods, I make a beeline upstairs to the bathroom. After using the facilities, I stop at the sink and wash my hands with the coldest water possible before I unzip my bag and pull out two Tic-Tacs and my lip balm. After popping the Tic-Tacs into my mouth, swiping the spearmint flavored balm across my lips and then putting it back in my purse, I head for the door. I’m almost there when it swings open. I grimace but somehow keep my sound of annoyance to myself as I watch Sammi stumble into the bathroom.

  “Heyyyy new girl,” she drawls.

  I’d leave, but she’s standing in front of the door. After letting out a heavy sigh, I nod. “That’s me.”

  “So sorry about earlier,” she slurs. “Morrow can be such a dickhead sometimes. I’d tell you to warn Julie, but she wouldn’t listen. Poor thing is always desperate for attention.”

  Screw it. There’s no reason for me to listen to this shit and I have no desire to humor her. “Alright, well, I’m out,” I mutter as I step around her and reach for the door handle.

  “Wait—”

  Completely ignoring her, I yank the door open and step into the hall. I stumble as I start to walk past the bar and see something from the corner of my eye. Stopping, I swivel and find Donovan sitting on a stool. As always, he’s clad head to toe in black. I don’t know what’s so sexy about that but my God it works. My belly flutters when he turns his head and looks at me before he turns away. Possibly because I’m a teensy bit drunk, I decide I just have to talk to him. Before I know it, I’ve started to walk toward him like an invisible force is guiding me there. Plopping down on the stool next to him with a little too much force, I giggle when I have to steady myself.

  “How’s it going, Stretch?”

  He ignores me as he rubs his thumb over the label of his bottle.

  Propping my elbow on the bar, I get comfortable. “Do you know that it’s obnoxious not to speak when spoken to? Cause it is. It’s also super, super rude.”

  When he turns his head and looks at me, I freeze. Looking into his eyes is like taking a shot of two-hundred proof vodka. I’m lost in the afterburn until he breaks the connection and looks away.

  “I don’t like talking,” he grumbles.

  I snicker and slap my hand down on the hammered copper bar top. “Get outta here! I’d never have guessed,” I say sarcastically.

  “Ewwww. Don’t do it!” a voice behind me slurs. I cringe when I realize it is Sammi. “Abort, new girl. Abort. That mute asshole is so not worth the breath you’re wasting.”

  The anger that’s been building toward her just hit max level. Calling him a mute is unacceptable. Turning, I glare at her. “Did I ask for your opinion?” I snap.

  Her overly made-up face sours as she glares at me. “Excuse you?”

  Working up a full head of steam, I stand. “No,” I snap. “Excuse you, Sammi. You’ve behaved like a complete idiot all night, but this is the last straw for me. Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”

  She sneers as she steps closer in a clear attempt to put me off with her size. Sammi is tall, which means she towers above me—but I’m far from intimidated. Taking two steps closer to her, I snicker. “If you think you’re going to scare me by getting up in my grill, think again. Take your shitty attitude and your bad extensions somewhere else before I open up a can of troll be gone on your ass.”

  As loud as her overly dramatic gasp is, I don’t miss the sound of Donovan’s little snort of surprises sounding laughter. Wow, he can laugh.

  “Only someone with no class would try to steer this into a physical altercation,” Sammi huffs. “Keep burning bridges and your time here will be a nightmare.”

  I swear I can feel the heat of Donovan’s gaze on my back. I’d bet any amount of money that he’s watching me. If I weren’t so annoyed with Sammi right now, I’d likely be flustered by his attention. The damn fluttery stomach reaction my body produces every time he’s near is in full effect, but I’m going to ignore that in favor of dealing with the rude bitch in front of me.

  “My time here is going great and will only get better. If you want to try to screw that up, go right ahead. But if you dole out bullshit, don’t be surprised when I fight back. I’m no one’s victim.”

  I can’t contain my smirk as she grumbles something about crazy bitches as she flounces off in a huff. If she wants to see a crazy bitch, she can just look in a mirror. Even before I turn back to the bar, I know Donovan isn’t watching me anymore because the loss of his attention was almost tangible. When I turn, I giggle as I get visual confirmation that my suspicion was correct. He’s facing forward and staring at the label on his beer bottle.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” I ask. Two seconds tick by without a response from him. That isn’t working for me. “You know damn well that I’m talking to you, Stretch. Don’t ignore me.”

  His body stiffens and I see his jaw muscle flex before he turns his head and allows his eyes to meet mine.

  “What part of I’m not a talker do you not understand?”

  I tap my finger against my chin and pretend to think. “The whole thing, really. I’d ask if it’s something about me in particular that offends your delicate sensibilities but going by the way you froze out Gloria at the market, I know it’s a theme. Do you have social anxiety or are you just a dick?”

  My eyes widen and I grimace as I realize what I’ve just done. Jesus. I wasn’t trying to be rude. Note to self—don’t drink if Donovan is going to be around. What little filter I normally do have has been turned all the way off. Something about him gets under my skin, because I wouldn’t push it like this with anyone else.

  “I, um, that was, well, it sounded better in my head,” I splutter.

  He shrugs as he stands, pushes his stool in and then tosses a five onto the bar. “I’m just a dick,” he says.

  He doesn’t look at me as he starts to walk to the door. Mortified by the way I behaved, I hurry after him and grip his arm to stop him. If I thought he was stiff before, I was wrong. The instant my hand connects with the sleeve of his black Henley, he becomes a slab of granite beneath my fingers.

  “Don’t touch me,” he hisses.

  I yank my hand back like I just touched fire. “I just wanted to say sorry. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch.”

  It feels like a million seconds have passed before he lifts one shoulder. “No need to apologize since I really don’t fucking care one way or the other what you do or why you do it,” he says.

  With that, he leaves me standing in the middle of the bar like an idiot, the buzz of the alcohol giving way to an acute sense of mortification. What is his problem? More importantly—why do I even care?

  6

  Eden

  Although it’s getting dark out, the light outside in the seating area under my window is good enough for me to be able to do some work. Since it’s officially fall now and the temperature drops down into the fifties at night, I slip on my low chestnut UGG boots and pull my Penn State hoodie over my soft white tee in order to be comfortable outside. Gathering my phone, my craft basket, a bottle of water, and the metal TV table my mother always used for crafting, I head out.

  I get my station in order before taking a seat and picking up the applique project I’m starting. I’ve decided I want to add a little personality to my room, so I’m making myself four throw pillows for the couch. The first two will have a cream-colored background with tan branches and melon-colored birds while the other two will be a yellow background with cream-colored birds. The birds are made up of different fabrics I got down at the local craft store. If they turn out half as good as they look in my head, I’ll be thrilled.

  Picking up my p
hone, I scroll through my playlists until one grabs my fancy. Sliding my earphones in I press play, put the phone down, and get ready to do my project. I’ve been doing applique since the moment my mom handed me a needle, thread, and some fabric. Her grandmother taught her mother, her mother taught her, and she taught me. Someday I hope to pass the skill down to a daughter of my own.

  I cut the birds out earlier and also turned the edges under and used liquid starch to keep them in place, so I’m good to go to the next step. Setting the first piece of fabric down on the tray, I smooth it out. Next, I add a piece of the tree, set it down, put it into position, and then use two pins to hold it where I want it. Cutting a piece of thread, I put it through the eye of my needle and tie it off several times. After putting a thimble on the middle finger of my right hand, I pick the needle up and start by bringing the first stitch up from underneath on an angle. As always, I lose myself in the process. For me, doing applique is relaxing, which is why I love it so much.

  I’ve got the entire tree and half of one of the birds stitched on when I feel someone watching me. Glancing around, I see no one. And yet, the feeling persists. I don’t feel like I’m in any danger, but I feel certain someone is staring at me. Looking at Donovan’s window, I see that the curtains are closed. I’m not surprised to see this because I haven’t set eyes on him in forever. In fact, I’ve hardly seen him at all since the nightmare at the bar when I made a fool of myself.

  I look around more, searching for who could be watching me. When another thirty seconds of nothing passes, I shake it off and go back to my applique. I try to get back into it but as the minutes tick by I realize it’s not working. Something out here has shifted and it’s impossible to lose myself in the needlework. Accepting that it’s a lost cause, I sit forward to pack it up and take everything inside.

  Setting the needle down, I wrinkle my nose when I smell cigarette smoke. Sniffing the air, I realize it’s coming from the side of the building. Standing, I quietly follow the smell past Donovan’s room. I wave my hand in front of my face as I walk right into a pocket of smoke when I take a left turn where the building ends.