It Takes More

Marc turned out to be a funny guy. We got along great. He wasn’t pushy, or overly flirty—though I could tell he wanted to be. He picked up on the fact that I wasn’t particularly excited to be at the club. He could also tell that I had a boyfriend, and took on the roll of a supportive friend rather than a potential hook up. For that I was grateful.

We found a booth right off, sitting closely as we talked about anything and everything over the pop and hip-hop music filling the club. I could definitely see us becoming—and staying—friends.

I only refilled my glass once, not wanting to get trashed. I still had to look out for Marla, who I knew was beyond smashed at this point. She swayed as she hung off of Marc’s friend—I couldn’t remember his name for the life of me—making her way towards us.

“’Lena! Oh my God, you’re not dancing! You need to be dancing,” she yelled excitedly, her words running together.

I shared a silent laugh with Marc as he stood, extending his hand. “Well?” he asked, expectantly.

I placed my hand in his as we followed Marla and Marc’s friend back out onto the dance floor. Marc was a ham—doing every ‘white boy’ dance possible. I couldn’t help but join in and forget my problems for the moment.

Two more hours passed like minutes. One A.M. came sooner than I expected. I talked Marc and his friend into helping me make sure Marla and I got home all right, the four of us walking out of the club into the chilly California night together.

I held tightly to Marc’s arm as not to get separated from him with so many people around as Marla hung off of his friend, who supported more than half of her weight. Marla was giggling way too much for her own good and none of us could decipher her drunken babble.

“One cab to Sunny Haven coming right up,” Marc smiled, leaning out to flag the next taxi.

“Marla?” The new voice startled me. I turned instantly, searching for that head of messy hair. “What the Hell, Mar? What the fuck are you doing?” Turning, he noticed me by her side. “Elena? What are you guys doing here? And why is this jerk groping my girlfriend?” he asked, glaring daggers at the arm wrapped tightly around Marla’s waist.

“It’s okay, Jack. Marc and—” I fished for his name.

“Bryson,” Marc finished.

“Marc and Bryson were just helping me get Marla home,” I explained, not liking the jealous rage in my brother’s eyes.

“Well, I think I can take over from here. Thanks,” he said, not at all meaning the last word.

Marc cocked an eyebrow, questioning me. I nodded simply. “Marc, this is my brother, Jack,” I introduced. His lips formed a perfect O in understanding.

“Well, I guess this is where we part tonight,” he stated somewhat disappointed.

I leaned in for a quick hug. “Don’t be a stranger. Call me.”

Meanwhile, Jack had already taken his girlfriend out of Bryson’s arms, now uneasily supporting her deadweight. Marc smiled in good-bye as the two friends disappeared down the crowded sidewalk.

Jack helped Marla into the backseat of the taxi that had been waiting for us and I slipped in after her. Just as Jack was sitting in the last available seat, I heard the eerily familiar voice from Saturday calling my brother.

A moment later, his face appeared as he bent to look in the car at Jack, not noticing me, or Marla for that matter. “Dude, you’re gonna just leave me here?” he asked in disbelief.

“I’m sure you can make it back to the hotel by your—” Jack started.

“Scoot,” Alex slurred as he tried to get in the car.

Jack looked nervously between his best friend and me, finally giving me an apologetic smile. I sighed; resigned to having to share a car ride with the one person I cared the least to be around. Especially sense he didn’t seem to recognize me in the least.

I leaned forward enough for Jack to slide underneath me before I sat back on his lap and Alex filled the now available space, shutting the door behind him.

The car ride to the hotel where Alex was staying was interesting, to say the least. I willed myself not to stare at Alex as he talked excitedly about his night with Jack, who tried his best to stop his friend from talking at all.

I couldn’t help but to snort a laugh when Alex recalled a story about one girl almost tossing her drink in his face after he used a cheesy—and pathetic—line.

“What?” he asked indignantly. “Why’s that funny?”

I shook, trying not to smirk.

“Seriously, why is that funny?” In his drunken stupor, he became defensive. “Don’t act like you know me. You have now idea who the fuck I am.”

“You’re right, I don’t know who the fuck you are,” I stated angrily.

“Elena,” Jack warned, belatedly realizing the slip of my name, his eyes snapping to Alex, waiting for his reaction.

“That’s weird,” he started. “Jack has a sister named Elena.” He seemed to study my face before I let my long hair create a shield. “Elena?” he whispered.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t turn to see if he had truly remembered whom I was. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see his eyed pop or his face to fall. I didn’t want my every fear to be confirmed. Alex didn’t want to ever see Elena again.