Stay And Use

“I thought you might be gone already,” Toria said as we settled into my hotel room. 

“Jackson already booked my flight,” I said, opening a beer. “I leave in two days.”

“Hmm. So what are you going to do till then? Stay cranked up in here?”

“Probably.”

“I could show you around, you know.”

I thought about it for a second and shook my head, sipping my drink. “Thank you, but no.”

I had thought about leaving and just going to tour on my own, but every time I thought about the possibility that I might run into him out there, I shook off that thought. 

Maybe I would have seen him with his hand around another woman’s waist, laughing with the boys and acting like that night didn't happen. But seeing him on screen tonight, I don't think any of that might have happened. I wanted to ask Toria what happened and why he looked that way, but then I might sound like I care, which I very much do, and I wanted to stay cool and keep up this nonchalant act until I was out of here.

And so I sipped my drink in silence and ignored Toria eyeing me. 

I didn't know why I agreed to this, or why I didn't just flat-out refuse like the old, bitchy Siri would have. Maybe I just needed the company, and didn't want to be miserable alone. Maybe I needed a shoulder to cry on or some shit like that. I’ve been through worse, and came out of it alone, but somehow the thought of being alone again was too unbearable for me. 

“You know, for someone who supposedly hates the bastard, you look absolutely fucking miserable,” Toria said, still eyeing me.

“I don’t hate him,” I snapped, andddd there goes my nonchalant act. Ah, fuck this. I sighed deeply, taking a huge sip from my beer, and facing her. “I don’t hate him, Toria.”

Her eyes softened. She dropped her beer, reaching out to squeeze my hand on the table, and it took everything in me not to jerk away from the sudden touch.

 “I know, hon,” she said softly. “I can see it.”

“But…” I swallowed, trying to push the lump down my throat, but the bastard was relentless and stayed stuck there. “But it doesn't matter anymore. My feelings don't matter.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

I gave her a hard look. “‘Why not?’ Are you seriously asking me why the fuck not?!”

She sighed as she pulled her hand away, leaning back on her chair and crossing her long legs. “Calm your titties, girl. Yes, I'm asking you ‘why not,’ but before you answer—or choose not to—hear me out.” 

I glared at her, and then down my remaining beer. I slumped down on my chair, crossing my arms and fixing her a look.

“Okay,” she started. “Jackson hasn't really been a saint. I mean, the man has fucked almost all the girls in our high school. Did you know that he managed to dis–”

“Toria!” I snapped when I could see her trailing off track.

She cleared her throat, her back straightening. “Right. Apologies. What I'm trying to say is that yes, he has a shitty past, but… but maybe he's really changed. Listen, girl, I know this might sound like the usual cliché bullshit of the friend coming to you after a breakup and goes, ‘Oh, dearie me, my poor friend is so miserable! I have never seen him like this!’” 

As she said that, the woman’s hands were flapping around, her expression so hilarious, I had to bite down a laugh. But then her expression sobered up just as quickly, her shoulders dropping, and I do not like that look in her eyes. 

“But… really, Siri. Dear me, but that bastard really is miserable, and I swear on whatever god you believe in, but I have never seen him like this.”

She pointed at the blank TV screen. 

“I know you watched the game.” My jaw moved, but she gave me a look, so I pressed my lips together. “I know you saw him. That’s Jackson M’Call, damn it. A bloke so heavy on victory, he made a stupid ritual to help him win. A ritual that he didn't complete before this game because his heart is in pieces.” 

I looked away from her and down to my empty beer can, itching to open another one. 

“And I realize how so wrong I was,” she went on, her voice cracking. “I realized that maybe someone can change in such a short time. Maybe he's really in love, and I was wrong. I was so wrong, and look at what I've done!” 

She buried her face in her hands, sobbing quietly, and I shifted awkwardly on my butt. I pushed a can of beer to her, unsure of what else to do. She raised her head and looked at me, scoffing softly as she wiped her face and picked it up.

“But what if you’re not wrong, Toria?” I asked her softly, refusing to allow hope to bloom in my heart. 

“Then use him,” she answered without hesitation, sipping slowly, sniffling. “I’m sure he fucks good. He looks like a Greek god. The bastard’s rich, so use him the same way you think he’s using you.” She shrugged. “I see nothing wrong there.”

I gave her a look before I sighed, fighting the urge to throw the damn beer at her. “You have never been in love before, have you, Toria?” 

“Nope,” she answered, popping the P, not looking like the woman who had been shedding tears just a second ago. “Love is for losers. And no offense, hon.” I rolled my eyes to the back of my head. “I don’t do that. Just look how miserable you are!” She shook her head. “So that’s why I keep feelings out of everything, and just use people.” 

“Well, not everybody likes using others, Toria.”

She nodded. “True. So let me rephrase this, Siri: stay with him.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. She went on casually. 

“Stay with him until shit hits the fan. And always keep it in the back of your mind that shit might hit the fan; that way you’re prepared for what your heart and mind think might happen.”  

I kept staring at her, my lips parted. She picked up an unopened beer, opened it, clinked it with hers in a toast, and handed it to me. I took the beer from her and drank half of it in one go, not caring when some spilled down my chin.

“And we all live happily ever after,” she whispered slowly.