Authors: Claire Adams
With every passing drink, the reasoning
why I couldn’t play the game sounded more and more feeble. So some guy made me
sign some dumb contract; it couldn’t be legally binding. That’s not how
contracts worked. And even if it was, what’s the worst that could happen?
Jail, I heard a tiny voice in my head say.
I could get sent to prison. So? The drunk Aria fought back. I’d seen Orange is
the New Black, I could totally withstand prison. I just had to learn how to
smuggle cigarettes in and…
“Aria.” Stacey was snapping her fingers in
front of my face. “Are you okay? You’ve been spaced out for a while now. Do you
wanna go home?”
“Go home?” I laughed loud enough for the
people on the other end of the room to hear. “Go home? It’s not even…” I looked
at my wrist and was extremely disappointed to see no watch there. “It’s not
even time…to go home…you know, like time?”
Nick was laughing uncontrollably now, and
I wondered if he was on the same level as I was. If not – if they were both not
– this was going to get really embarrassing tomorrow.
“Where are our shots?” I surveyed the
whole room, as though they would just materialize from a random corner.
“We haven’t ordered any,” Stacey said, and
I could swear she was slurring her words too, making me feel better.
“Well, we gotta fix that,” I said, then
shouted, “SHOTS!”
Everything after that point was hazy. I
was running around the bar talking to anyone and everyone. There were shots and
more shots, and at one point I think I did a keg stand – or maybe Stacey did
one and I felt uncomfortable just watching her. I was next to the birthday
girl, cheering her on…we started taking shots together…I was fiddling with my
phone. It felt like I was in a horribly made movie. After one last birthday
shot with Brianna, everything went completely blank.
---
I woke up feeling the weight of the whole
universe in my head. Slowly opening my eyes, afraid of the light, I surveyed
the room to make sure it was my own. Phew. And I was alone, fully clothed,
thank god. I licked my lips, still flat on my bed, head pounding, feeling
extremely dehydrated. Reaching for the glass of water next to my bed was an
enormous struggle and when I finally grabbed it, it was gone in seconds. What
was going on with me?
Then I remembered…last night…the bar…the
shots…the birthday party. My last hazy memory was dancing with the birthday
girl, after which my mind went blank. I had no idea how or when we had gotten
home. I pulled out my phone to call Stacey – it felt like too much effort to go
over to the other room – and then almost had a mini heart attack.
There were thirteen texts from Zayden, and
one from Brianna (the birthday girl?) saying “New bestieeeee!!!!”
I shuddered to think of what may have
caused her to give me that coveted title. I must have done something crazy…danced
on the bar counter? That wasn’t something I was completely innocent of.
No wonder Zayden’s texts sounded so
concerned. Pretty much all of them were some variant of asking me if I was
okay. What did I say to him? Shit.
I scrolled through my sent box to see an
embarrassing number of texts to Zayden. Not much was decipherable, but one of
them said, “im non ibject.” Even I could translate that to “I’m not an object.”
And another one that said “fyk ue contact.” I could only assume that meant
“fuck your contract.” Then there was “ehy camt I play mumbs lke evry1 eler
huh.” “Why can’t I play numbers like everyone else.” This made me extremely
glad that nobody else outside of Nick, me, and Stacey knew what Numbers was.
To my utter and complete horror, the phone
rang, and it was Zayden. I thumbed the green answer button and weakly pressed
the phone to my ear.
“Yes?” I spoke softly.
“What’s up drunky?” He said. I could feel
him grinning through the phone and it made me want to throw something.
I mumbled “go away” but didn’t hang up the
phone.
“Still unable to speak, I see. That was
the theme last night.”
“Look, I’m sorry about the texts…wait…what
was the theme of last night?”
“You calling and slurring words that more
or less didn’t make an ounce of sense.”
“I called you?” That made me sit up
straight.
“When didn’t you call me? About seven
times last night. I spoke with quite a few inebriated pals of yours. Some girl
named Brianna kept saying her name was Brianna and it was her birthday and that
men sucked.”
“I remember very, very little about this
person.”
“Last night she was your best friend. She
had started suggesting you get on top of the bar counter and dance when I
decided to send Ned over to take you home.”
“What?”
“You remember Ned?”
“No, I mean, what do you mean you sent him
to take me home?”
“You and your roommates. You told me what
bar you were at and I thought it was time for you to go home, based on your
complete inability to speak a coherent sentence.”
“Who are you to decide when it’s time for
me to go home? You’re not my mother!” A familiar pang of anger started building
up inside me. The nerve of this guy.
“I sure hope not. That would be awkward
for everybody. But seriously, are you okay?”
“That is quite frankly none of your
business,” I snapped.
What was his deal? Just because he has
money and a fancy car and driver, he thinks he can push people around and make
decisions for them? We would’ve been perfectly fine taking a cab back home.
We’d done it countless times before. It’s not like I didn’t have a life before
Zayden came into the picture!
“I would say it is, given our contract. It
says specifically—”
“Why don’t you just become a lawyer and be
done with it?” I sounded angry and that, combined with the headache that was
making me feel like I would go blind any second, made me think that I was
perhaps not in the best state of mind to have this conversation with Zayden
right now. “Look, I am in a lot of pain right now. I’m sure you’ve experienced
the mother of all hangovers. It’s not pretty and I am not functional currently.
I assure you I didn’t do anything last night that would even put a dent in the
contract—“
“I know. You kept saying that last night.
I’m not worried, you were on the phone with me practically the whole evening.”
I was such an idiot! My one night out to
clear my head of all things Zayden related and I managed to make it all about
him. Why did I drink so much?
“I am sorry for harassing you.”
“It’s not harassment if I enjoyed it.” He
was smirking; I could just feel it through his phone. “Really quite
entertaining. You’re really something, drunk or sober.”
“Thanks for the expert analysis,” I spat.
“Now if it’s okay with you, I am going to go back to lying down until time
stops.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I won’t,” I said and hung up.
My head fell right back onto the pillow
and I collapsed.
---
Hours later – or it could have been days
for all I knew – I woke up again to Stacey’s face smiling at me.
“Okay little miss drunky, it’s time to
spill the beans…what is going on with you and Zayden? After last night, you
have to tell me.”
I covered my face under the pillow and
mumbled, “Just kill me now, Stace. Why did we drink so much?”
She placed a cup of coffee on my bedside
table. “Because you wouldn’t have it any other way. You were clearly pissed
about something, and in your drunken stupor decided that the best way to deal
with it was by consuming as much as alcohol as your liver could handle.”
“But.” I looked up at her again. “But,
weren’t you and Nick drunk too?”
“Yeah, but we got to a point where we
stopped drinking because you were sharing your evening with every person in
that big birthday crowd. By sharing your evening, I mean, taking a shot with
everyone in sight.”
“Did I do something stupid?” I reached out
for the cup of coffee and the warmth of the liquid made my body feel
infinitesimally better.
“Nope, you were just having fun mostly.
Until the calls to Zayden started. Everyone in the bar spoke to him, thanks to
you.”
I buried my face in the palms of my hands.
“Shit, Stacey, that’s bad. I never should have called him.”
“What exactly did he do to you anyway? I
thought you guys were doing so great.”
I sighed and proceeded to tell her
everything that had happened after Rick had showed up at the office.
“Okay, first of all,” Stacey interrupted.
“What were you doing talking to that Dick anyway?”
“It’s a long story!” I said a little too
fast, feeling terrified of Stacey.
If anybody hated my ex-boyfriend with a
fiery-passion enough to burn him to the ground, it was Stacey. It was a mark of
her loyalty to me and really touching, for the most part. But right now her
glare was crushing my soul.
“I have all day. And more if needed,” she
said looking at her watch.
“He wants to be friends.” I shrugged.
“Oh, does he now?” She folded her hands.
“Look, Stace, if I told him to go fuck
off, it would seem like I am still affected by what he did to me, like I still
cared. And in all honesty, I don’t. Yes, he hurt me a lot and yes, I had the
hardest time getting over it. But I am over it now and I feel that the best way
to move on is to not make a big fuss about it.”
“Do you have to fraternize with him
though?” She frowned.
“No, but it’s easier than fighting him
off. I have been intending to avoid that coffee with him for as long as
possible. But that does not mean Zayden can tell me who I can or can’t talk to!
His attitude is what makes me actually want to hang out with Rick.”
“Aria, it doesn’t help to be bitter,” she
told me, stroking my arm. “But you’re right…as much as I have been approving of
Zayden all this time, I don’t think it was right of him to talk to you as
though you’re an object in his possession.”
“I am though, according to that fucking
contract, that’s exactly what I am,” I said, fuming. “He has stripped me down
to the level of his office desk. It’s like all of the sudden, I have no agency,
no independence, like I signed my life away to him, and he’s ready to remind me
of it every step of the way.”
“Oh Aria.” Stacey hugged me. “That sounds
bad. You should not feel objectified in any relationship. If it’s a power-play,
it’s not a real relationship. Definitely not a healthy one. I can’t believe I
am saying this, but I think you need to break it off. I know he is helping your
mom out – and he was really nice to you yesterday, I spoke to him on the
phone—“
“You and everyone in that bar,” I scoffed.
“If I had known about all this I would
have told him stop calling back and turned your phone off. It just seemed sweet
at the time, like he was concerned about you.”
I thought about that for a second. “I
don’t doubt that he is. Concerned, I mean. But I think he does not understand
the concept of boundaries and is controlling beyond belief. It’s starting to
feel way too suffocating.”
“Then get out of it,” Stacey repeated. “We
will figure something out for your mom. Maybe I can take out the loan in my
name? My dad could help co-sign it. We’d just have to get him really drunk one
day—”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,
Stacey. I’m sorry for fighting with you the other day. And no, I got myself
into this mess, I’ll find a way to get myself out of it. But it was extremely
sweet of you to offer. You’re honestly doing more than enough by just being
there. I couldn’t love you more for it.”
We both sat for a long time hugging each
other. By the end of it, I had decided for sure that I wanted to break things
off. I was not used to being objectified and doing a man’s bidding, and
whatever he was doing for me was not worth my dignity.
Zayden and I had to be over.
Chapter
8
Zayden
To my utter horror, I had gotten the
dreaded “surprise” visit from my mother a few days after Aria had stormed out
of my office. I already had a lot to worry about: Aria had called out of work
all week, making me increasingly anxious. If she hadn’t made those drunk calls
on Friday night, I was ready to show up at her apartment unannounced and give
her an earful. How could she have done that to me? A whole week? What was I
even paying her for, if she could simply choose to disappear whenever she damn
well please?
On top of that my mother decided to just
show up, no warning, and thought that would make me happy. Likely story— she
very well knew how I would react to the visit— yet she was my mother and I had
to at the very least try to not be a complete monster. Right now she was going
on and on about my chef’s inability to cook the steak to the perfect
medium-rare. She was a terrible cook herself, but loved to criticize everything
other people did.