Page 18 of Love in Pieces

I chug the last of my drink, fill it up at the keg on the porch, and slowly make my way down the stairs toward the pool. No one seems to notice that I’m clutching the handrail with everything I’ve got. As I hit the bottom step, my drink sloshes onto my shirt.

“Not again,” I mumble to myself.

“I could help you with that.” A guy leaning against the opposite rail winks at me.

“I’m good,” I attempt to say, but I think it comes out as more of a slur. My hearing is so muffled that I can barely hear my own voice.

“You sure? Wouldn’t take long. I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, pushing off from his position.

I focus on my words before speaking, but it doesn’t help. “Pos’tive,” I say, holding my palm out to him. It lands on his chest, and I quickly pull away, giving him the middle finger.

A breathy laugh sounds from his chest. “Suit yourself.” He moves towards the pool to join the crowd that has gathered to gawk at the girls swimming naked through the water.

Whoops and hollers sound from the middle of the pool where a girl sits on a guy’s shoulders, playing chicken with another girl. Both girls' bikinis leave nothing up to the imagination.

The pool is surrounded by a small deck with a staircase leading up to another level. The small lights on each stair do little to help the weathered boards that make for an uneven hike to the top. A few nails pop out of the wood, and I trip on one at the top step. A guy catches me, holding my arm until I’ve braced myself upright.

“Thanks,” I mumble. My once full cup now lies empty on the deck, a puddle of beer next to it. I look at the pool, pausing a moment when the water seems to spin like a whirlpool in front of me. I look back to the house, through the third-floor window to see if Sam might be watching. Not seeing him, I start taking my pants off. Maybe it’s time I teach Sam a lesson.

“We’ve got another one!” a guy yells from inside the pool.

Everyone cheers as my top comes off. Somehow, I manage to hold on to what little dignity I have left and keep my underwear on.Fuck it.Before I know it, I’m in the air above the water. Time moves in slow motion as I form myself into a ball, bracing for impact.

I draw in a sharp breath when my butt hits the water. Thank God for heated pools. My feet hit the bottom quickly and I spring up and out of the water. Loud cheers sound around me as I take another breath. I wipe the water from my eyes and black makeup coats the edges of my fingers.

Through the cheers, I hear someone say, “Dude, isn’t that Sam’s girl?”

My heart seems to stop when I look to see who said that. Sure enough, one of Sam’s friends, Jordan, holds a fist over his open mouth in pure shock.

“Someone go grab Sam. His girl is out of control!” But Jordan doesn’t seem serious about this comment. He’s amused. He breaks out laughing. “Take it all off, baby!” he yells.

Fuck Sam. I’m over it. I throw my hands up over my head with a “Whoop, whoop!” A few join in on my cheering and someone offers me a drink. I chug the smooth, sweet liquid before crushing the cup and throwing it over the railing of the deck. The music continues but seems almost mute. My ears ring a little, but I can feel the bass from the music in my bones. Suddenly, I’m sitting on top of Jordan's shoulders. He grabs my thighs with a tight grip as if he’s claiming me for himself.

The fun doesn’t last long. A strong grip on my arm practically rips me out of the pool. The bellow of Sam’s voice seems to echo loudly in my ears. “What in the actualfuckis going on here?”

Thankfully, the alcohol has done its job, and I can’t feel Sam’s harsh hand. “Let go of me!” I yell at him, but he ignores my command.

“Put your damn clothes on, Abby,” Sam snaps as he shoves them at my torso. “Jordan, get out.”

The hiss of his voice is enough to make Jordan listen. “We were just having a little fun,” Jordan says, stepping out of the pool with his hands up. “Really. Nothing more.”

The sound of cracking cartilage hits my ears before the blood from Jordan’s nose splatters on my foot and the deck. He falls backward onto his butt, one hand bracing his fall and the other holding his nose.

“Fuck, dude!” he yells, muffled through his hand.

“If I ever see or hear that you touched my girl again, I’ll break more than your nose,” Sam hisses. He spits, forcing it to land just in front of Jordan.

My pants aren’t buttoned, nor is my shirt fully tied when Sam drags me down the pool deck, through the house, and out the front door, a tight grip on my bicep. I stumble the whole way, trying to keep my balance and still process what just happened through the fog of alcohol.

When we reach the bottom of the front steps, I wrap my hand around the handrail and put my brakes on, digging my heels into the dewy grass as much as I can. “Stop, Sam! Stop, please,” I beg.

I’m not sure if the rage blinds him from the crowd of people out front but still, he yells, “No!” He twists around, pulls me away from the railing, and connects the back of his hand with the still-damp flesh of my cheek.

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