Abandon

Chapter Four

I leave the recording studio with Senia’s phone number, even though Chris refused to give it to me. He has a bad habit of leaving his phone unattended in the control room. It didn’t take long to find Senia’s phone number, and I swiped Claire’s number as insurance, in case Senia tries to ignore my calls.

I’m not one to chase girls. But I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been thinking about Senia since our tryst outside the yogurt shop. When I asked her who she had been talking to on the phone, she pushed me off of her then quickly got dressed and left. I drove home licking the taste of her and the yogurt from my lips. I kept thinking back to all the times we’d almost had sex. Then I began to remember all the times I’d tried to have sex with her and she rejected me because she was in a relationship.

The worst memory I have of Senia has to be the time we almost had sex in the pub restroom in September. It was almost three months ago, but I still cringe when I think of the words I said to her. I actually said, “You’ll do,” as we were tearing at each other’s clothes, as if I were settling for her. That’s the kind of thing I’m used to doing: lashing out at someone who’s rejected or hurt me in the past. I have to be prepared to approach things differently with Senia this time. I have to prepare myself for the inevitable rejection and I have to resist my desire to hurt her when it comes.

Pursuing Senia will also be complicated by her friendship with Claire and my friendship with Chris. It may also be the one shot I have at a normal, convincing relationship.

I climb into the driver’s seat of my car and shoot her a text that works with most girls, even though I have a strong suspicion that Senia is not like most girls.

Me: I was thinking about you while I was in the studio today.

It’s not a lie. I was thinking about her while I was hurriedly scrolling through the contacts on Chris’s phone searching for her number. I tuck the phone into my pocket then peel out of the Reverb parking lot. By the time I pull into the driveway in front of my house in Cary, I’m certain that I’ll have a response to my text.

I slide out of the driver’s seat and slam the door before I activate the alarm. Slipping the phone out of my pocket, I see the notification that I have four text messages. I smile as I unlock my phone and navigate to the messaging app.

Molly: Grandma said you don’t have to come over tomorrow. Her insurance company is sending a van.

Me: Tell her to cancel the van. I’ll be there at 11 like I said.

I open the next message and I’m not surprised to see it’s from Jenny.

Jenny: My roommate is visiting family in Vermont. Want to come over?

I met Jenny at the show we played in Durham last month. Her roommate hates me, which makes Jenny perfect. This means she has to keep me at a distance. Plus, she can do some pretty amazing things with her mouth. Normally, I’d jump on the chance for an easy fuck like Jenny, but something about waiting for Senia’s text makes me hesitate.

Me: Maybe some other time.

The next text is from Chris, threatening to feed me to Rachel’s Aunt Maddie if I text Senia. Rachel is Jake’s girlfriend who became his fiancée last week. Not many people know that Rachel and Jake met in high school band class. Of course, Jake played the snare drum. Though Rachel grew up playing the piano, her mom made her attempt to take up the saxophone that year. Jake told me that he once caught her practicing a Kenny G song in her bedroom. Rachel threatened bodily harm if I ever tell anyone about this.

I take it, from Chris’s text, he must have found the selfie I left on his phone today. The last text is from Rachel warning me that if I’m late to tomorrow’s recording session she’ll poison me slowly. Considering Chris rolled into the studio later than I did, he probably received an even more colorful version of this text. I don’t know why the fuck Jake lets her be such a bitch to everyone. I would never allow my girl to bust my friends’ balls like that.

The one time I called Jake out on this, it was Chris who answered for him. “Rachel is only saying exactly what we’re all thinking.” Chris may be like a brother to me and he may be the wisest asshole when it comes to charming the ladies, but he doesn’t know shit about controlling them. Whether they admit it or not, women want to be dominated. They want to be owned.

Except for Senia, it seems, because she still hasn’t responded to my text.

When I enter the house, Lily the cleaning lady is just gathering up her cleaning supplies and her vacuum cleaner to leave. I walk past her without acknowledging her presence and head straight for the kitchen. It smells like that lemon-scented cleaner she uses. I walk past the dining area and through the French doors onto the veranda.

I bought this house in September because I wanted to be far enough from Raleigh that I wouldn’t have to worry about running into Elaine. Also, I wanted to be far enough that Grandma Flo and Molly wouldn’t try to track me down and pay me any surprise visits. I’ve been living in this house more than two months and I can’t decide what makes me feel worse: the fact that Molly and Grandma still don’t know where I live or the fact that they haven’t tried to figure it out.

I head past the outdoor dining table where I’ve made at least a half-dozen girls come until they were practically unconscious. Removing the metal grate from in front of the stone fireplace, I reach my hand inside and feel around over the rough stone. My hand hits the screw jutting out the inner surface of the chimney and my fingers follow the chain that hangs loosely from the screw. I pull the necklace off the screw and ball up my fist around it before I take a seat on one of the cushioned deckchairs.

My fist closes tightly around the gold chain with the heart pendant as I gaze out across the vast expanse of green grass behind the house that stretches out farther than my eyes can see. It’s been four years since Ashley admitted to cheating on me and threw this necklace at my face. I don’t know why I’ve kept it, other than to hold on to a reminder that relationships aren’t worth the trouble. And the sickening suspicion in the pit of my gut that I’m just as worthless.

Leaning forward in the chair, I slowly open my fist. The gold is covered in soot, which coats the palm of my hand in dark striations that crisscross my skin. I stand up and chuck the necklace out onto the grass, so far that I’m certain it lands on my neighbor’s property.

Good. It’s someone else’s trouble now.