It's Really Happening

Sometimes, very seldomly, I do things I’m not proud of. It usually happens when I don’t think thing through enough (or at all) and I act impulsively. Now was one of those times. I stepped up to Josh, who looked properly horrified. As he should.

“I am going to hold onto this for you,” I told him, holding out my hand and speaking very carefully and quietly, “And I will give it back when you prove you deserve it. Because my best friend is upset, and I love her more than anything. So you come talk to me when you’ve got your shit straight.” Josh nodded slowly and I tucked the ring into my pocket.

And then I punched him in the face.

Apparently nobody else was expecting it—I didn’t quite know what I was going to do myself—by the chorus of “oooh” that went up around us. Then I rounded on Jack. “And you,” I hissed. His eyes went wide and he took a step back. “There aren’t words enough to tell you how... livid I am at you.”

So I kicked him in the nuts, and down he went. If there was a reaction from the others, I didn’t hear it. All I could hear was blood pounding in my ears.

And then I left, having done more than enough damage. I’m half surprised nobody stopped me doing either of those things. Maybe they thought I was right in doing them. Or maybe they were just too scared to get in my way. Under different circumstances, I would have killed myself laughing at the expression on Alex’s face, but it just reminded me that I was angry with him too. Not as angry as with Withenshaw and Barakat, because they hurt Abby, and I don’t give half a damn about myself as much as her.

I caught up with Tiffany and Abby back at the hotel, after an awkwardly quiet cab ride— “You alright? You look like you’re about to murder someone.” “It would be justifiable homicide. I could probably talk it down to manslaughter.” I stopped by the ice machine on the way and got a small bag. Both of them sat on the bed, Abby sniffling with tears streaming down her cheeks as Tiffany rubbed her back. I joined them on Abby’s other side and hugged her without a word. I didn’t trust myself to say anything.

What could I say? Everything’s going to be alright? I had no proof of that. Your fiancé’s a dumbass and I hit him for you? That would just be stating the obvious. So I just said nothing.

Eventually Abby calmed down a little and sat up enough to put the ice bag on her face. “I can have him killed for you,” Couch offered. “Can I kill him for you?”

“It was an accident,” I reminded quietly.

“That’s no excuse!”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Abby begged.

We all settled into silence again, not really sure what else we should talk about. There had been something on my mind all day that I hadn’t mentioned to anyone, and it was the only thing I could offer as a replacement. It would at least take Abby’s mind off her own problems.

“Zack asked me to marry him,” I mumbled, suddenly finding the bedspread really interesting.

Both of them gaped at me. “What?”

“When I went to get a soda from the vending machine, they had just gotten back. S’why I took so long. They were all wasted, and we slipped away for a few minutes.” We hadn’t made it to the soda machine, just around a corner or two, before he kissed me, backing me into the wall. I’d seen Zack blackout drunk before, and he definitely was now, but I was pretty drunk myself so I didn’t mind.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling away for a moment and leaning his forehead against mine. “I love you so much.” I smiled in response, not wanting to sully the words with slurring. Zack was smart; he knew without me talking. Besides that whole thing about actions was true, right?

I wasn’t sure exactly how long we made out in the hallway—because, again, drunk—but at one point I remembered I was supposed to be doing something. What was that again?

“Marry me,” he murmured, pulling away for half a second before sealing our lips together again. It took me a while to gather enough brainpower to realize what he said, and when I did, I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.

“What?” I asked, leaning back far enough that I could see him properly without crossing my eyes.

Zack tightened his arms around my waist. “Marry me,” he repeated more insistently. I giggled, not taking him seriously. “I love you, and I want to be with you. And I don’t have a ring ‘cos I dunno shit about engagement rings, but I will!”

I chuckled, leaning my forehead against his. “Well, shiny’s the usual parameter. Big and shiny.”

“That’s what I thought. But I want it to be perfect. You deserve the best.” He took my hand and watched himself play with my fingers. “Like those huge diamond rings celebrities buy, as big as your fucking thumbnail. And I’ll buy a big house for us to live in, with a pool and a Jacuzzi and a bunch of ramps for skating…”

I realized, as Zack continued to babble ardently about the things he’d do for me, that I was only just lucid enough to retain my voice of reason and brain-to-mouth filter. And that both were screaming and waving signs in front of caution tape to abort mission.

He stopped talking and smiled a little expectantly, and it hit home with me that he was serious. As serious as he was wasted.

“Zack…” I licked my lips wishing I could magically sober myself up in three seconds. “You’re really asking me to marry you?”

“Yeah,” he said obviously. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”

“Drunk weddings at 2 AM when you’re not even legal to drink aren’t exactly smiled on,” I reminded, trying to simultaneously be gentle and keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

Zack smile slipped a little and he blinked a few times. “So… you don’t want to marry me?” he asked in a small voice.

“I’m not saying that,” I argued, putting my hand on his cheek. My stomach lurched. The timing of this could not be worse. “Just… ask me again when we’re both sober and I can give you a proper answer.” He nodded, smiling again and gave me another kiss.

“And then I got a soda and came back here,” I finished lamely to Abby and Tiffany.

“And he doesn’t remember this?” Abby asked, still holding the ice bag to her face.

I shook my head. “He doesn’t even remember how they got back to the hotel.” Funny how you ask someone in the morning how their night was and they reply, “Great! I think. What I remember of it.”

“Are you gonna tell him about Alex?” Couch asked.

Suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I bit my lip, hoping that if it hurt enough I wouldn’t cry. “I have to,” I decided, reaching for my phone. “Because I don’t want this to happen again.” I sent off a text: Meet me in the lobby in five minutes? “Even though it’ll probably mean it’s over between us. And he’ll probably kill Alex.”

“We’ll mourn his death,” Abby said dryly.

So I hugged and kissed them both on the cheek, took a shot, and walked down to the lobby like it was exceution day. Which it might as well have been. I sat on one of the couches in the side waiting area and formulated what I was going to say, how to break it gently. But that all went right out the window when he stepped out of the elevator and I burst into tears.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down beside me and putting his hand on my back. I shied away, shifting a little further from him. That was probably the biggest indicator to him that something was horribly wrong.

I’d wanted to be calm and repentant and not at all expect him to understand, but what came out was a lot of sobbing and gasping for breath. The jist of what I got out was, “The night before you drove up, we all went to a club, and I got really really drunk and I don’t remember what happened, but when I was woke up, I was in Alex’s bed, and I don’t remember how I got there, and I’m so sorry, Zack, I never wanted to, I don’t know how it happened, I wanted to tell you before but you came back from the strip club so happy and you asked me to marry you and I panicked and then the whole thing with Jack and Abby came out and I didn’t want that to happen to us, I’m so sorry, I completely understand if you never speak to me again.”

Only with a lot more sniffling and my voice breaking so I couldn’t get words out. I couldn’t even look at him because I was so ashamed and terrified what I would see if I looked up.

But Zack didn’t say anything. At all. In a way I would have prefered he yell and cause a scene. But no. He just got up after I finished talking and walked out the front door. After a minute of sitting there I went to the bathroom, locked myself in the handicap stall, and cried silently on the floor.

When I finally got up, I splashed water on my face in the sink and went back to the elevator. The people behind the desk stared, but didn’t say anything. Really helpful, guys.

I guess I looked worse than I thought because the minute I closed the door of our room, Couch practically yelled, “What the fuck! Why is everyone getting fucked up at once?!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, albeit weakly. “Tactful as always, Couch dear.”

“How badly did it go?” Abby asked carefully.

I flopped down on the end of the bed and stared at the ceiling. “He didn’t say anything,” I said dully. “Not a single fucking word. He just... left.”

“Like, the room?”

“Like, the hotel. He went out the front door.”

“Oh.”

“Mm.”

“At least if there’s a murder on the news, we’ll know who it was.”

“Shut up, Tiffany.”

We were all incredibly grumpy as we left the hotel the next morning because it was way too fucking early and none of us were morning people. But we didn’t want to run into anyone we didn’t want to see. Not to mention Abby had a big bruise on her cheek that was difficult to cover up.

I kept telling myself it was an accident, but I wanted to kill that bastard. Both of them.

I didn’t talk much during breakfast or when we went to the airport. Mostly Tiffany talked to fill the silence, and Abby answered when anyone did. I just... didn’t want to be around people, but there was no helping that. I also worried, about Zack doing something rash (however justified), about Abby, about Alex (because, really, Zack might actually seriously hurt him). Even about Josh, because no matter how angry I was at him, I saw how sorry and how mortified and how scared he was after he swung for Jack and missed.

It got even worse when it got closer to our flight and some of the guys showed up. Thankfully they weren’t on the same flight, but their terminal was across from ours. Nobody had gotten a good night’s sleep, it looked like.

“Did you do that?” Abby asked after they passed us. I glanced over: Josh sported a lovely black eye.

Shit. I hadn’t told her about that. “Uh. Yeah,” I said hesitantly.

She nodded after a moment. “Thanks.”

I touched her engagement ring in my pocket. “No problem.”

We tried to keep a low profile, to make them not notice us, but once we saw they were there, we kept looking at them and muttering to each other about how they were watching us. (And about what jerks they were.)

“Fuck it,” I declared, getting up. “I’m getting coffee. Either of you want anything?”

“I miss Canada,” Tiffany grumbled, not moving off Abby’s shoulder.

“Well, you tell Tim Horton’s that they can come to the West Coast any time they like. Abby?” She shook her head, glancing up across the terminal and back down at her book. “Fair enough.” I hopped over the other side of the uncomfortable plastic seats and headed to the Peet’s down the terminal.

I ordered a vanilla latte and went to wait for my drink, only to notice that Jimmie and Rian were behind me in line. I waved weakly. Dammit. Okay, don’t be cynical and think they were sent to sweet-talk.

“Hey, Eris,” Rian greeted, coming to lean next to me, soon followed by Jimmie. “How’re you?”

“Alright.” Evasive, but not a lie. “You guys?”

“Hungover,” Jimmie admitted with a laugh. “Hence the coffee.”

I nodded. “Could be worse. You could have a massive bruise on your cheek.” Both of them suddenly looked really uncomfortable. Rightly so!

...Okay, maybe that was a cheap shot.

“So...” Rian rubbed his chin. “What did you do with Abby’s ring?”

“It’s safe,” I assured him, watching the barista make drinks. “Josh knows to find me when he needs it back.”

Jimmie looked at me suspiciously and slowly grinned. “Abby doesn’t know you have it, does she?”

I pressed my lips together. “Not... as such, no.” My cynicism flared up again, and I eyed them both. “Please tell me he didn’t send you here to make me forgive him.”

“No!” Rian’s eyes widened and he held up his hands. “We just wanted coffee.”

“...Alex wanted us to talk to you, though,” Jimmie admitted.

“Vanilla latte for Justine!” the barista called.

Thank god. “You tell Alex to go fuck himself, the weasly, manipulative pond-scum,” I told them, picking up my drink and thanking the barista. Maybe it was petty or double-dealing or self-deprecating or whatever of me, caring more about Abby’s problems than my own, but I had gotten used to being fucked over.

...No pun intended.