Catching Raven (4 page)

“You’d like her though. She’s a good girl.”
Why am I seeking her
approval? Cut that out.

“I’m sure I would,” she smiles reassuringly. Her gaze drops to her notes.
“While we’re on the subject, have you given any thought to what I said about
Levi?”

Not one bit.

“I have,” I lie, “but I’m not changing my mind. We may not hang out as
much because of the move, but I’m not dropping him. He’s not as bad as you
think.”

“No, Eric.
You’re
not as bad as you think.”

I stiffen. Where the hell did that come from? I swallow my insecurity,
feeling the air around us thicken with tension. It’s sobering. My natural
instinct is to bolt or deflect. I lean forward and place the bowl of Ramen on
the coffee table, avoiding eye contact at all costs. “Do me a favor and hold
the judgment till noon.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m simply tossing a theory out there.”

“Which is?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the reason you take the fall for
Levi is because you think you deserve to be punished for something? Or perhaps
you feel like you don’t deserve anything good in your life?”

Silence.

“Would you say there’s any truth to either of those assessments?”

I lean forward and glare. “What’s your angle?”

She’s unfazed by my hostility. “Why do you always assume I have hidden
motives? I’m not your enemy, Eric. I’m trying to help you. But I can’t help if
you won’t let me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be able to move forward and let go of your past so you can
heal. You deserve to find some semblance of peace and happiness.”

“I’ve moved on. It’s buried. There’s nothing more to say.”

She studies me. “Eric, you haven’t worked through your issues. We can sit
here and talk about the light and easy stuff all day, but it’s not going to get
you to where you want to be. You need to be willing to open up more. At least
give me something.”

My chest is rising and falling rapidly. Clever bitch trapped me. It’s a
double-edged sword. If I get up and walk away, she wins. If I give in and spill
my guts, she still wins.

“Tell me about your parents,” she presses.

“No. Next.”

She sets her pen down and waits for me to elaborate. It’s obvious she’s
not going to budge. I check my phone to see how much time we have left.
Thirty-two minutes. Shit. I’m royally screwed. Fight the inevitable for as long
as possible. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. This tactic lasts a
whopping four minutes.

“My parents. They’re both living their own separate lives.”

“And how does that make you feel? Knowing they’re out there but making no
real effort to contact you?”

“How do you think that makes me feel?”

“You tell me.”

My fists ball up. “It makes me feel like shit, okay? There. Is that what
you want to hear?” Why am I allowing this woman to cut me? Maybe she’s right.
Maybe I am a glutton for punishment.

“How old were you when they split up?”

“I don’t know, five? They were on-and-off for a while after that, then
Dad ditched us for good a few years later.”

“Why’d he leave?”

“He couldn’t handle my mom.”
And my mom couldn’t handle me. And I
can’t handle this.
I feel claustrophobic on the inside. Is that even
possible?

“What do you mean by that?”

“She was young. It wasn’t her fault.”

“What wasn’t her fault?”

“My dad leaving. He knew what he was getting himself into. He knew she
had a kid and a bunch of other baggage.”

“Do you hold him responsible for everything?”

“I hold him responsible for his fair share. He gave up when Mom and I
needed him the most. You don’t get to just walk away after you committed to
helping raise a child you knew wasn’t yours. When things were solid, he had no
problem claiming me as his own, but when shit hit the fan with my mom, he
couldn’t distance himself from me fast enough.”

“That must’ve been hard. When was the last time you saw him?”

“I don’t know. Ten years ago. Why?”

“Where do you think he lives now?”

“Fuck if I know. Probably on a beach somewhere. Or maybe he’s living the
whole white picket fence, suburbia bullshit. I’m sure he married some Stepford
Wife type along the way who gave him 2.5 overachieving children, and they all
sit down around the table at dinnertime, sharing stories and holding hands and
praying.”

“What’s the last memory you have of him?”

I must get off on this—torturing myself. I cave and describe in vivid
detail—down to the very outfit he was wearing—the last time I saw my dad. How
he screamed at my mom at the top of his lungs. How I sat at our kitchen table
plugging my ears, desperately trying to drown out the fighting. How he grabbed
his keys and his wallet, said he was done with us, and slammed the door so hard
a picture fell off the wall. I’ll never forget the sound of his truck as it
roared to life, gravel crunching beneath the tires. I ran over to the window
with tears streaming down my face, and that was it. He didn’t even come back
for the rest of his stuff. No phone calls, no visitations, no birthday cards.

Nothing.

Vivienne leans back. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

After she sucks the last scraps of my soul out of my chest, we call it
quits. Actually, first she says I have serious abandonment issues and need to
work on trusting people without pushing them away, then she seals fragments of
my soul in a Mason Jar. And she does it with a smug smile.

She knows too much, which officially makes her a threat.

My conclusion: I can no longer trust her.

My next conclusion: she’s got to go.

Unbeknownst to Viv, this is our last session.

r     a     v     e    
n

“Get your ass in the pool, Raven!”
Emilio commands. “Or I’ll throw you in.”

“She doesn’t want to get her hair wet,” Tori informs. She’s lounging in a
hot pink bikini, soakin’ up what’s left of the sun’s rays. Her newest addiction
is tanning. The girl has no self-control. The second she starts looking like
one of those idiots from
Jersey Shore,
I’m cutting her off.

I smile widely and look around, taking in the scene. I’m surrounded by
amazing friends, fabulous weather—having the time of my life. Tori and I
invited some people over to check out our brand new apartment. Eric and Emilio
were sweet enough to haul all the boxes and furniture up, then we all hit the
pool to cool down. It’s a day full of celebrations: Mia’s back for the summer,
Tori and I both got accepted into UT in the fall, and today’s my eighteenth
birthday.

And they say youth is wasted on the young.

Eric breaks the surface of the water next to my pool chair, slicks his
blond hair back. He’s been working out like crazy with all the lawn care and
landscaping jobs, and it shows. Water trickles down and falls off his body like
a slow motion ad for Cool Water cologne. Utterly ridiculous. He’s filled out in
all the right areas, leaving no trace of the teenager he once was.

“Anyone up for grilling tonight?” he looks around to gauge potential
takers.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Mia answers, slipping her sunglasses
over her eyes and sitting down by the edge of the pool to dip her feet in the
water.

“That’s the spirit.”

Eric swims over and grabs her by the waist. Before she can even process
what’s happening, he launches her into the pool. She manages to scream before
impact.

Emilio laughs hysterically.

Mia resurfaces and coughs up a mouthful of water. “Dammit, Eric!”

“Sorry, Strawberry. Couldn’t help myself. You got me all excited.”

She flips him off.

Ever since I introduced them a few years ago, they’ve developed the most
twisted friendship. We’ve all become inseparable. The downside: Mia can relate
to him in ways I can’t. They’re not into each other like that, but they’re
extremely flirty. It’s annoying. To her credit, she has no idea how I feel about
him.

“What about you, birthday girl?” Eric asks, tugging me out of my own
head. He’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for my answer. Beneath the
surface, he’s waiting for something else entirely.

“Grilling sounds good. Do y’all want to run to the store and pick up
stuff while us girls start unpacking?”

“We can do that.” He turns to look at Emilio. “You ready, man? I’ll buy
if you drive.”

“Deal.” Emilio hoists himself out of the pool.

Eric follows suit.

“Do you guys mind picking up some booze while you’re out?” Mia asks,
floating weightlessly on her back.

He glances down at her. “You know, just for asking that question I’m
going to pick you up some milk.”

“Make sure it’s chocolate.”

“I’ll make sure it’s whole,” he guarantees.

“Doubt it. You wouldn’t know wholesome if it sat on your face.”

“Wanna bet?” he says, looking like he might jump back in.

Mia splashes water at him and submerges herself before he has a chance to
dive back in and tackle her. She swims to the edge, boosts herself up, wrings
her long dark hair out, and flips it over her shoulder. Eric and Emilio grab
towels and dry themselves off. I tear my eyes off Eric’s body and get a grip
before I feel the need to jump in the pool and cool down too.

“Looks like I’m late to the party,” a familiar voice calls out, hosing
down my hormones. Brandon closes the gate behind him and strides over carrying
a gift. Once he reaches us, he bends down and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Happy
Birthday, baby.”

He hands me the present. Does this make me a ho? Accepting a present from
him knowing I have feelings for someone else? It certainly doesn’t feel right
in my gut. But Brandon’s good for me. I couldn’t ask for a better guy. So why
am I not feeling it? Where’s the disjoint? Why is this so confusing?

It’s becoming clear that this exchange is making everyone visibly
uncomfortable. The tension is palpable. Eric’s staring at Brandon like he’s an
imposter.

“Thank you, babe,” I say.

“What are you waiting for? Go ahead and open it.”

Not wanting to make this more awkward, I tear apart the wrapping paper.
It’s a tiny black box holding a pair of silver, heart-shaped earrings inside. I
swallow past the lump clogging my throat.

“They’re beautiful.”

Out of my periphery, I notice Eric tense up.

“Do you not like them?” Brandon asks, assessing my reaction.

“No, no. They’re perfect.” I kiss him square on the lips, hoping to
dispel his suspicions.

He caresses my face and deepens the kiss, then pulls back. “I just want
to make you happy. You know that, right?”

I swallow and nod. Eric and Emilio slip their shirts on and leave.

“Where’re they headed?” Brandon asks.

“To grab some food.”

“So...you already have dinner plans?”

“Yeah, the boys want to grill. But you’re welcome to stay.”

He forces a smile to appear. “I’d love to. Can I steal you away tomorrow
night for a belated birthday dinner?”

“Sure. I already asked for the weekend off, so I’m in the clear.”

I hate myself for making another promise, but I can’t seem to find the
right time or the courage to end this thing. Events and people keep getting in
the way. And I refuse to break up with him on my birthday. I want to have fun
with my friends, not break someone’s heart. On the flipside, he doesn’t deserve
to be strung along, either.

“Can I see your apartment?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I stand up and grab my stuff. “We were just heading up to
unpack.”

After I give Brandon the grand tour, we spend the next fifteen minutes
rearranging furniture and unpacking boxes. My friends are my superheroes. They
always come through. We divide and conquer, each tackling separate rooms. Plus,
they’ve come up to help so that I’m not alone with Brandon—whether that was
intentional or not, doesn’t even matter. They’re even awesome when they’re not
trying. I’m in the kitchen putting away all the dishes when Eric and Emilio
waltz through the front door.   

“We humble servants come bearing gifts,” Eric announces, setting the
grocery bags and beer on the countertop. He lets out a heavy breath and fishes
his phone out of his pocket to respond to a text. Probably some girl he met in
the booze aisle. I distract myself by unloading everything. Emilio disappears
into the bathroom.

“I wouldn’t use humble or servant to describe you.”

He stops texting and looks up at me. “Well it certainly wouldn’t be used
to describe you, either.”

I grab the brats and toss them at his chest. “Feed me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m the birthday girl.”

He tosses the brats aside, checks the hall to make sure no one’s
watching, then grips the edge of the counter and leans over so our faces are
merely inches apart.

The playful vibe shifts.

As Mia would say, “Shit just got real.”

“Back up,” I order.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he says in a low voice.

My heart rate spikes.

“What are you doing? Brandon is right down the hall.” I try to keep my
voice even, but my nerves are piqued. We’re not technically crossing any lines,
but if someone walked in and saw us, we’d definitely be giving the wrong
impression.

His gaze is steady, intense, hard, like he’s desperately trying to convey
something. “As if that would stop me. He doesn’t make you happy.”

We’re sliding into dangerous territory.

“…And you know this how?”

“Because I never see you look at him this way.”

“Like how?” I push.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then travels back up my face.

“Like you want me to defile you.”

Very
dangerous territory.

I swallow thickly. The sexual tension that’s been boiling to the brim for
years just spilled over. This is pure torture. I want nothing more than to give
in—right here, right now. I want to grab his gorgeous face and kiss him so
hard—make him forget about all those other nameless girls and leave a lasting
impact. This is what Brandon and I are missing. Passion. Chemistry.

Just go for it, stupid.

I inch forward, part my lips, and let my gaze slip to his mouth. As I’m
about to seal the deal, the toilet flushes, the bathroom door swings open,
heavy footprints creep closer to the kitchen. I jump back several paces because
nothing screams “innocent” like plenty of physical distance.

Emilio rounds the corner to the kitchen, stops mid-stride. His eyes dart
back and forth between Eric and me. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” Eric lies. He reaches for the brats, the bag of coals, and
the lighter, then looks back at Emilio like nothing ever happened. “You ready?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute. I’ll bring the rest of the stuff down,”
Emilio says, unsure of how to react.

Eric nods and glances in my direction, his lips pull up into a
flirtatious smile. In a flash, he’s gone.

Emilio closes the distance between us. “What’s the matter with you, huh?
Are you trying to get caught?”

“No. I’m trying to figure out what I want.”

“Then take the time to do that, but don’t play games.”

“I’m not.”

He grabs the tongs, a couple beers, and heads for the door.

“Emilio?”

He freezes, but doesn’t turn around.

“Please don’t say anything to Eric, or to Brand—”

He turns and stares. “You’re my sister. I’m on your side no matter what.
But don’t be stupid.” And with that, he’s gone.

Silence fills the room. My elbows meet the counter with a light thud as I
bury my head in my hands, exhaling my frustration. Why is this so complicated?
Must I have to be the one to hurt Brandon? Isn’t he sick of me yet?

Ugh, FML!

An incoming text yanks me out of my momentary slump. I reach for my
phone, secretly hoping it’s Eric.

Tori:
Boy problems?

How’d she know that?

The floor creaks and my head snaps up. I find Tori standing near the edge
of the hallway, watching my live freak out like it’s a Broadway show. I zip
around the counter, grab her by the hand, and drag her out to the balcony. Once
we’re outside and out of earshot, I take a deep breath and tell her, “We have a
problem.”

“Spill.”

“It’s Emilio; he caught us.”

“Caught who? You and Eric?”

I nod.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Nothing like that. Well, kinda. I don’t know. We were in the kitchen
talking—”

“And by talking you mean flirting,” she interjects.

“Right. One minute everything was fine, and then the next he got up close
and personal. I can’t think straight when he does that.” By this point, I’m
pacing.

“And then I thought to myself, ‘Gee, he might make a stellar boyfriend.
He understands me better than anyone, he puts up with my antics, knows exactly
what to say to make me laugh, and most importantly, he lets me rewind all my
favorite parts as many times as I want during Thursday Movie Nights.’”

“That’s important?”

“Extremely. Not many people have the patience. It’s the small things. I
want him, Tori. God, I want him like crazy. But is he the right choice? I don’t
want to give up a guy who treats me well for one who doesn’t. Eric loves being
single. Can he handle a committed relationship? Is he capable of being a loyal
boyfriend? These are the thoughts that plague my mind. If one of us makes a move
and it doesn’t turn out the way we planned, we’ll lose everything. He’s seen me
at my best and loved me at my worst. We accept each other exactly for who we
are, flaws and all. Dating him changes those dynamics. Why put my heart out on
the line and risk it all for something that’s potentially less transparent and
authentic than what I already have?”

“I get that, but where does Emilio come in during all this?”

“He walked in on us when we were seconds away from kissing.”

“Oh, shit.”

I stop pacing and plant my hands on my hips. “Yeah.”

“Personally, I think you need to cut the cord with Brandon and be done
with it. Then take some space and see how you feel about the whole Eric
situation. Maybe you’ll have a better grasp on what you want. You can always
try talking to Mia, too,” she suggests.

“No way. I don’t want her caught in the middle. She’s just as close to
Eric as I am. I’m not putting her in the position where she’s forced to take
sides. As soon as I figure everything out, I’ll fill her in. Until then, she needs
to remain blissfully unaware and neutral. Switzerland.”