Next-Door Nemesis(42)
She chomps down and arches an eyebrow as if daring me to argue.
“If it’s the law, then what can I do about it?” Plus, she ordered a Caesar salad with no croutons. She deserves a taste of happiness.
“Exactly, nothing.”
We both finish our food, me with gusto, Ashleigh with obligation, and are waiting for our check when Ashleigh’s phone begins to vibrate with notification after notification.
“Sheesh.” I look at the influx of notifications lighting up her phone. “Popular much?”
I deleted pretty much all the apps off my phone after my life blew up. Getting tagged in different versions and hot takes of your lowest moment is not the good time you might assume. Now the only things on my phone are Words with Friends and Candy Crush. I have the home screen of a sixty-five-year-old and I’m okay with it.
“This is so weird.” She unlocks her phone and starts to tap around. “Angela never texts me. And she tagged me in the HOA Facebook group?”
I’m draining the remaining drops of my margarita as she investigates this mystery when the familiar chords that have haunted my dreams for the last two months cut through the noise around us.
“What is . . .” Her words trail off as understanding dawns on her face.
I watch in abject horror as the color drains from Ashleigh’s rosy cheeks. I don’t have to see the video to know what she’s seeing. Every frame, every second from the video is scorched into my mind. The humiliation I was beginning to put behind me rushes to the surface and I worry everything I’ve eaten is going to make a sudden reappearance. I don’t wait for her to say anything; all I know is that I can’t stay.
“I . . . I have to go.” Panic finally pushes me out of my seat and out of the restaurant.
As soon as I push open the heavy door and the humid summer air hits, I start running and I don’t stop until I reach the main road leading back to the Reserve at Horizon Creek. The curls I decided to let free are stuck to my forehead and the back of my neck, and my lungs burn as they fight to get enough oxygen. I put my hands on my head in a weak attempt to slow my breathing and gather my thoughts.
I don’t know if I should go back to Ashleigh and try to explain what she saw, but the thought of showing my face again makes my stomach turn. The awful thing about going viral is you know there’s always a chance someone you meet will stumble across one of the lowest moments of your life. A little voice in the back of my head is constantly warning me not to get too close, that I’m always a second away from being plunged back into humiliation. I know I fucked up and that vandalism is never the answer, but it feels extra shitty that I’m still being punished for my reaction to the bad behavior Peter was rewarded for.
Since there’s no way to gracefully slide back into the booth and explain this away to Ashleigh—and also because I’m a coward—I continue walking the familiar path back to my parents’ house. The summer sun is high in the sky and every step feels harder than the last. My slip-on sneakers are like bricks on my feet, and by the time my house comes into view, I’m dripping sweat and absolutely miserable.
But besides the sugary tequila treat I decided to drink, something else isn’t sitting quite right.
I’ve been back in town for a while now. So long, in fact, that the internet has found more new targets than I can count. I know the video of me will never disappear, but I was hoping the times of it making its rounds on social media and having think pieces written about it had come and gone. The last time I checked, the number of views had stopped climbing and settled into a slow crawl.
So why, after all this time, is this video only now making the rounds in this sleepy suburb? How did Angela find the video to post in the HOA group?
There’s only one thing that’s changed, and I know exactly where to find him.
My dad’s outside inspecting how the white oak is coming along when he sees me. He aims his bright smile at me, but it falls the minute he gets a good look at me.
“Oh no.” Concern colors his words. “Are you okay?”
“Fantastic.” I look down the street, my pace never slowing as I focus in on my target. “I just have to take care of something real fast.”
You’d think that my hyperreactive ways would’ve changed thanks to the time they destroyed my entire life, but the opposite is true. Once the worst has happened, it loses its power. If I survived it once, I can survive it again.
Maybe.
I stomp up Nate’s brick pathway not seeing any of the beauty I noticed last night. I pound on the door that I’ve now decided is the ugliest effing door I’ve ever seen and hope my fist punches a hole through it.
“Nate!” I shout, not caring who witnesses what’s about to happen. “Open the door, you coward!”
I hear him before I see him.
The sound of muffled footsteps running down the stairs precedes his confused expression and tousled hair appearing through the long, rectangular window next to the door. He doesn’t hesitate before swinging the door open.
“Collins?” His eyes are full of questions as they flicker back and forth from my scowling face to whatever’s happening behind me. “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”
“Is everything okay?” I practically screech from the sheer audacity of it all. “Are you kidding me?”
Before I can say anything else, he grabs me by the elbow and pulls me into his house, shutting the door behind me.