In Control (The City Series) (27 page)

I flinched from his touch, but was too scared to back away. I kept my eyes closed, terrified to look into his.

“Let’s go somewhere. This place is a fucking bore,” he muttered. He reached for my hand, but as he did, something came alive inside me.

I pictured this person, this Andy, as everything I hated. He represented the pain I’d endured all of these years. The bruises, the tears, every single bodyache I’d ever had as a result of someone’s hand. For so long, I’d held every ounce of pain inside and never allowed anyone to witness it. The moment he reached for my hand, I split it two.

I pushed him against the wall, beating on his chest with my fists. The crowd around me stopped what they were doing and focused on the scene in front of them.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me! I don’t
ever
want your hands on me again!” I screamed, tears pouring down my face. I couldn’t stop hitting him. I didn’t ever want to stop hitting him. Mr. Henderson was standing right in front of me and I wanted to kill him.

“Kingsley!” Porter came from behind me and wrestled my body away from Andy.

The crowd circled around us, and I couldn’t stop thrashing my legs, trying to get free of Porter’s hold. He was able to pick me up, dodging my flying fists. He demanded I calm down and stop fighting him, but I couldn’t control my anger. I’d never allowed it to surface until that moment, and now that it was set free, it was on a mission to cause harm.

“Kingsley!” he screamed, keeping both of my hands clutched in his.

By the time we got outside, I was crying to the point of hyperventilation. My limbs had become weak from fighting Porter off. We sat against the garage door; I huddled in his arms. His heavy breathing was all I heard; I knew the crowd inside was still stunned from what they saw.

“What the fuck just happened?”

I knew he deserved an answer. He’d just witnessed me going crazy on a complete stranger, something I never thought I could ever do.

“I thought he was going to hurt me,” I confessed. “He tried taking my hand, and I got scared.”

“So you started beating him?”

“I don’t know what got into me.” I couldn’t tell Porter that Andy reminded me of Mr. Henderson. I couldn’t reveal that when Andy touched my cheek, it felt the exact same way as when Mr. Henderson did it.

“Shit, Kingsley,” he muttered.

For a few minutes we sat in silence. My body was still anxious and shaky, almost like it was anticipating something bad to happen. Greg came outside to check on us, but it wasn’t for my benefit. He was making sure we weren’t causing a scene outside. He only asked Porter if everything was all right, leaving me to realize that everyone inside thought I was the crazy one.

“Porter,” I said, turning to him to explain.

His eyes were half-shut, though. He focused on the cars passing by, not giving any indication that he heard me saying his name. I called his name again, and when he looked at me, I noticed the size of his pupils. They were twice as large as normal. The blue of his eyes was almost completely gone. He gave a slow smile, almost like he was performing it in slow motion.

“Porter, what’s wrong with you? Did you take something inside?”

His laughter gave me the answer I needed. He must have been given something while inside the party. The only thing I could think to do was get Porter back to his house. He needed to sleep off whatever was in his system. I needed to somehow help him into his room without his parents discovering him. I helped Porter stand up, feeling the clamminess of his hands.

“Do you hear that?” Porter stopped walking and whispered.

“Hear what?” I looked around, searching for whatever he was talking about.

“I don’t know. I think it walked away.” He started laughing as he stumbled over his own feet.

I held onto his arm, keeping him from falling over. I hailed an oncoming cab, thankful that we could find one at this time of night on a Saturday. Giving the driver directions, I allowed Porter to lean against my side. During the drive, he tried climbing over the seat to change the radio station. The driver demanded that if I didn’t control him, he would drop us off at the police station, fully aware that Porter was underage and on something. I pleaded with Porter to sit still, telling him he could change the radio station when he got home. That seemed to control him, and he slumped against my shoulder for the remainder of the ride.

The driver dropped us off at the corner of Porter’s street and I struggled getting him out of the car without slipping on the ice. He ran ahead before I had the chance to hold onto him and jumped up onto his neighbor’s tree, swinging back and forth on a low hanging branch.

“Porter, please get down,” I begged.

“
Porter
?”

I turned to the voice and saw his parents exiting their car. Their eyes were wide as they watched their beloved son swing from a tree in the dead of winter. Porter saw them, but didn’t get down. He just continued swinging back and forth. His parents stormed down the sidewalk, their faces filled with so many emotions; worry, fear, confusion, rage. As they approached, I tried explaining what was going on without actually telling the truth.

“Porter just had a beer. He must not have eaten very much today, and I guess it just hit him pretty hard.” My excuses were flying from my mouth before I had a chance to stop them.

His parents looked from me to their son, who was still swinging. Mrs. Henning’s eyes were full of disappointment. She looked at her son like she didn’t recognize him. Mr. Henning shook his head, cradling his wife in his arms, protecting her body from the cold.

“Get down this instant, Porter!”

Mr. Henning’s booming voice made my insides shrivel with fear. Porter must have felt the same way because he finally dropped from the branch and walked, in a zigzag line, toward his parents.

“What are you on?” his father demanded. He grasped Porter’s shoulders, shaking him to force out an answer.

“Chill, Pops,” Porter laughed out, “I just really want a Big Mac and to fucking sleep right now.”

Mrs. Henning gasped at her son’s response. I closed my eyes, wishing I hadn’t let Porter talk me into sneaking out. Mr. Henning clutched his son’s arms and practically dragged him back to their house. I stood, frozen to the ground, and watched them disappear inside.

“Kingsley.” Mrs. Henning’s delicate voice grabbed my attention. “Do you have any idea what he’s on? We’ve never seen him act this way. Please, just tell us the truth,” she begged.

“I-I don’t.” I wanted to tell her about the party. I wanted to tell her that her son disappeared with Greg and that she needed to ask
him
what Porter took. But I couldn’t tell her any of those things. Porter would never forgive me if I tattled on him. Our relationship would be over.

“Okay,” she said, sadly looking down at the sidewalk. “L-let me drive you home.

“No!” I shouted. “I mean, I can just walk. I’m not very far.”

Her eyes questioned my answer, but she nodded her head. She was far more concerned with checking on her son than making sure I got home safely. I told her that Porter would be okay, even though I didn’t know if he would. I told her that I’d be okay walking home, even though I didn’t know if I would be once I got there.

When she entered her house and I walked toward mine, I didn’t know what the outcome of this night was going to be, but I had a feeling I was going to lose something. Maybe everything.

Three shots of vodka. Four shots of tequila. Two beers.

I was well on my way to blacking out, but I couldn’t stop myself. Wren glared at me from across the room, watching in horror as I took yet another shot of tequila. This was my way of forgetting that Porter was somewhere in this house. I could feel his presence the way you feel sweat drip down the back of your neck, only this wasn’t something I could just wipe away.

The crowd that surrounded me was a mixture of girls and guys. Like me, they were standing there to get drunk—more than drunk—they wanted to blackout just as much as I did. We fed off of each other, rooted each other on as each of us took another swig of our beers. I didn’t know any of their names. I didn’t care to know them, but the longer I drank with these people, I picked up on little things. The redheaded guy standing across from me liked to chase his tequila shot with cranberry juice. The pretty blonde standing next to me hated the taste of vodka, yet she continued shooting it.

“Cheers to our freedom!” the redheaded guy yelled as he picked up the bottle of tequila and chugged it down. This time, he didn’t chase it down with juice.

Red cups clinked together, the crowd happily celebrating our freedom. I rolled my eyes but lifted my cup, only wanting to blend in. The circle of debauchery was the life of the party, which meant all eyes were focused on the center of the kitchen. I peered around the room, stopping at Wren, then continuing on, searching for Porter.

He wasn’t there.

I listened to the conversations going on around me. Comments on how this was the best party ever circulated from one person to another, and I couldn’t help but feel aggravation that I was even there. I wanted to be alone with Wren, away from this house, this party. I wanted to be wrapped in his arms, under his sheets, back in Brooklyn.

“Kingsley!”

I looked to my left to see Jay calling my name, waving me over like a dog. For a second, I thought about flipping him off, but I’d already caused one scene at the party. Had Wren not come into my life, I would have thought seriously about screwing Jay. His bad boy attitude, mixed with just the right about of naïveté, was a huge turn on. I would’ve trained him to do the things I wanted him to do and then once he began falling in love with me, I would’ve told him to get lost. That was my specialty.

Until Wren.

I walked over to where they were standing and snuggled into Wren’s side.

“Slow down on the drinking,” Wren leaned down and whispered into my ear.

His words went in one ear and out the other. I grabbed Jay’s beer out of his hand and chugged the remaining contents.

“What the fuck, Kingsley?!” Jay whined.

“I got thirsty,” I said, smiling back at him.

Jay scowled at me before walking off to get another drink, leaving just Wren and me standing alone.

“What’s your deal?” he asked, turning to face me.

“Like I said, I was just thirsty. Happens to the best of us.”

The next hour of the party was a blur. Wren didn’t go out of his way to talk to me, and I worked on numbing every part of myself. The more I drank, the less I worried where Porter was, but the more I drank, the more my mind was immersed in flashbacks from my past. I was surrounded by people, yet I felt completely alone. If I didn’t pass out, if I didn’t get away from the memories, I would scream at any moment.

Wren was in the middle of a conversation with Samson when I tugged on his sleeve.

“Can we go?”

He turned and looked at me, his mouth half-open from being stopped mid-sentence. “Are you okay?”

“Just really,
really
sleepy. Can we go?” I repeated.

“Of course.” Without needing more of an explanation, Wren said goodbye to his friends. He explained to them that I wasn’t feeling well, and Jay, being Jay, made a crack that maybe I shouldn’t drink so much, which only resulted in Wren punching him in the arm. Hard. It wasn’t until we were outside that Wren asked me what was really going on.

“I can’t stop the memories from showing up,” I admitted, never expecting my confession to come so easily. Last night, before I divulged one of my darkest secrets to Wren, I would have told him that I just didn’t feel well, but now I felt like my soul was already exposed.

“The memories from that night?” he asked.

“
Every
memory.”

Wren grasped onto my wrist to stop me from walking. The sun was beginning to set and if I wasn’t being haunted by my past, I might have enjoyed the beauty of the sky.

“What are the other memories?” He asked the question like it was an equation he didn’t understand; I was the equation that could never be solved.

“I just want to lay down,” I answered, stumbling on the concrete. “I just want sleep.”

Wren cradled my body into his side, keeping me from falling over. He nodded his response, holding me until we arrived at his front door. We entered his house, the silence acknowledging his parents’ absence. I was thankful they weren’t around to see me so wrecked. His mother would have written it off as just another reason that I wasn’t good enough for her son. And I would have believed her.

We entered the guest bedroom, Wren immediately turning down the sheets on the bed. I kicked off my flip flops, not bothering with any other piece of clothing. The second my body hit the mattress, a flood of relief washed over me. I knew in minutes I’d be asleep. In my sleep, I could ignore everything, and that was bliss to me.

“I’m gonna get you some water and ibuprofen. Do you need anything else?” Wren asked, kneeling down next to the bed.

I shook my head, scrunched my eyes closed, and smiled. I was tempted to tell him that I needed him, but couldn’t spit the words out. I watched Wren walk out of the room, closing my eyes as I listened to him walk down the steps. The rest of the house was silent. No grandfather clock tick-tocking, no dogs barking. Nothing but the sound of my own breathing to keep me company. As the seconds passed, I could feel each memory disappearing.