End of the Night

Private schools tend to fuck kids up.

I could be biased, being born and raised in this incredibly stuck up little town in New England. Deception, lies, money, prestige, it’s all I’ve ever known. Us, this town, me.

I was born to a mother having an affair with the best friend of my father who was steadily trying to keep his on the side younger woman a secret from said suspicious wife and daughter. I’d befriended the son of two equally fucked up drunken doctors, who tended to pay off their kid with gifts and wealth.

Yeah, that’s all Tyler

We’d grown up needing nothing, wanting everything under the frigid sun. I’d wanted the fame, the stars, my name in the papers, the Californian sun. Tyler wanted the girls, the limelight, the money, the sex. And he’d gotten that and more.

I’d been left in the shadows, always the willing recipient of new tricks, or experiments Tyler wanted to try out. Always wishing, wanting, waiting, for him to realize it would only be me. It would always be me waiting for him at the end of the day.

And that’s what kept me going.

He’d gone through a million Brittany’s, and Becca’s, and Lily’s, and even more recent Rosy’s, but there would only be one Adalena. Here, me, always. No one else. I’d believed that I was the one who had stood out from the countless pretty faces, the bland hues of tan and brown. I’d let myself believe that I could actually be considered that one that you always read about in cheesy Harlequin novels.

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming

But when elementary and middle school had come and gone, our private school, yes, our private school had sealed my fate. Because if I’d thought Tyler had been getting his fair share of willing girls in primary school, secondary school compared to a buffet.

Maybe years from now, my hair graying and my grandchildren listening eagerly, I could relay the naivety I held in my heart. The satisfaction I’d felt feeling him twirl me in his arms, the soft kisses planted on the side of my face, the caresses in the shaded corners of the hall where
the camera couldn’t spot us. Beautiful.

But I see now, even currently from my perch on the picnic table, I can see it was a game. He hadn’t been playing me, because I’d never been a factor, merely a spared pawn surrounded by a field of protective knights and bishops. The seductively licked lips, and overtly shown body parts were the real game, or specifically the girls attached to them.

Lena, Lena, Lena

I’d seen the same thing happen with my parents. Business functions accosted by red-lipped co-workers, laying innocent touches on hands, arms, legs. Breathy sentences, requests to look over last minute files, gone.

I bet if I tried hard enough, I could place my fathers face on Tyler as he stands now, arm slung over the back of Rosy’s shoulder, yet fingers running up, down, the arm of Rosy’s friend sitting beside her. Sick. They’re all smiling, smirking, in Tyler’s case, each seeing a different reality, each living a different moment.

I want to feel rage, anger, but all I get is a fluttery stomach and a passing wave of nausea. Resignation.

Fleur exhales, pushing out her chest, barely fastened buttons straining, desperate against the starched fabric. Dukes glancing, subtly, the licking of lips, moisture, until he glances away quickly. They’ve had this going on for some years now; Dukes wanting her, but her playing hard to get with the excuse of her boyfriend, James. Always in the background, yet never here to visit from Stanford or wherever.

All this does, is worsen my mood, sends shadows of anger racing through my veins, spiking my pulse. But no, never at him. I don’t think I could be mad at Tyler for doing this to me; it’d be easier to blame myself. To place the years of constant heartache on my yearning heart, desperate for unrequited love.

“You good?” That question again, but out of the mouth of another, blue eyes, sandy locks, safety. I chance a smile at Dukes, a grimace I’m sure, and nod slowly. His hand squeezes my thigh, before reaching up to pull his cigarette from his mouth.

It draws me in though, plump, red, pursed, wisps of cloudy grey floating, away, away, beyond us. I’m staring, and he knows it. A smirk then, and then he’s leaning closer, a zoom lens I don’t want to stop.

“You want it,” and then I’m laughing because that’s so Dukes, joking, all knowing. I miss Fleur’s disdain filled glance but I do catch Tyler’s hardened glare.