Other medical students struggled to keep up, struggled to focus in their exhaustion. Not Darren. He thrived on the distraction, and as a result, he was a veritable pinnacle of medical student success. They just couldn’t see the train wreck on the inside. He knew he was fucked up, but he didn’t know how to do anything different than keep pushing forward, hoping one day he could master the art of convincing himself he was okay.
His apartment was silent and empty when he finally got home. His parents had bugged him for months to take the day off and come home for the anniversary of Jess’ death. It almost sounded like a celebration. He’d dreaded it, and now that he was back in his apartment, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Everyone knew why he’d taken this day off, and he didn’t want to deal with the sympathetic bullshit at the hospital if he decided to go in and work. It was the last thing he needed, so instead, he drank himself into a stupor.
When he was drunk enough to cope with being around another person, he called Candace. Candace was the girl he was pretending to date at the moment. In truth, they fucked, and that was about it. He didn’t have time for more, and she didn’t care. She legitimately did not care that their relationship was going nowhere. Darren didn’t have a clue why she was as jaded as he was, and, well, he didn’t care.
Within an hour, he was buried in her body, pounding into her from behind as his hands gripped the spindles on his headboard. She was groaning, and he tuned it out, annoyed she was making it difficult for him to disappear into another world while he plowed into her. He came loudly, and she did too. He lay panting beside her, not even bothering to talk to her, touch her, or acknowledge her in any way.
“Who’s Bailey?” Her voice broke the silence, and his focus flashed to her.
“What?” How the hell did she know about her?
“You said the name Bailey. Or I should say you moaned it. When you were coming? Care to tell me who she is?”
Candace didn’t look the least bit upset, and Darren knew she wasn’t. At the most, she might be offended, but it wasn’t a personal affront to her. They just didn’t care about one another enough to care if the other wanted to cry out some other person’s name during sex. The odd thing wasn’t that she didn’t appear to care in the least he had called her another woman’s name, it was that he didn’t even realize he’d said it. Of course, he was still drunk as a skunk.
“She’s no one,” he muttered, hoping she’d drop it. He wasn’t so lucky.
“Doesn’t make any difference to me. I’m just curious. I mean, you love her.”
“No! I don’t love her.” He was getting annoyed, and it showed in his voice.
“You said, ‘Bailey, oh God, Bailey. I love you.’” She almost sounded like she was making fun of him as she said the words with mock inflection.
Darren stood, walking toward the bedroom door. He stopped and looked back at her. “You can show yourself out.” He didn’t bother making any excuses for what he’d said; he didn’t bother trying to explain. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with her, and he didn’t owe her an explanation. He wasn’t sure he could explain it if he tried anyway.
He heard the front door of his apartment close as he stood in his shower. He was dizzy, and he braced himself against the wall of the shower, wondering if perhaps he wasn’t too drunk to be showering in a hot steam of water that made the dizziness even worse. He thought of Bailey a lot, and apparently that included drunken fuck sessions with his casual fuck partner. Thinking of Bailey was painful . . . and at the same time, it was incredible. He had too many ridiculously arousing memories of her for it not to be incredible.
He stood letting the heat of the shower beat down on his shoulders, thinking about her. He was blocking out the anger and rage that she incited, and he was focusing on the feel of her. Her skin was soft, and he could remember the shiver that would run over her skin whenever he touched her. She likely didn’t know he noticed it, but it was hard to miss. It had always left his cock hard and his own body tingling in need. Now, he was hard again, but the tingles were guilt, and he fought his brain to let her go, so he could quiet the emotions in his mind that he just didn’t want to deal with.
Chapter Seventeen
Now
Her phone ringing startled her out of her focus. It was Monday morning two days after her mother left for Memphis, and she knew without looking it would be her mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, baby. How are you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”
“You know you can come to Memphis anytime. I have room in my apartment for you.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I am.” They disconnected quickly, and Bailey returned to scouring the newspaper in front of her. The help wanted section was sadly short, and she was losing hope.
The newspaper was spread out over the kitchen table, and her coffee was holding one corner. It was a bit ridiculous that Bailey was drinking coffee when it was over a 100 degrees in her cottage. Her power had been shut off, and she was trying like mad to figure out what she could pawn to make enough money to have it turned back on. How the hell she was going to support herself until she could get an income was becoming a desperate worry. Did it stop her from jogging to the nearest coffee shop for the biggest coffee her change jar would buy her? Hell no.
The heat was oppressive, and she was sweating. She was wearing a loose sundress. The idea of putting a bra and underwear on over her sweaty skin made her cringe, and so she was going commando under her baby-doll sundress that was practically see-through thanks to the thin white material.
The next interruption came when someone knocked on her door. She’d heard the car pull up through her open windows, but she’d ignored it, not wanting to move. Every time she moved, sweat trickled down her skin under her dress. When she pulled the door open, Darren was standing in front of her. He was wearing a pair of plaid cargo shorts and a casual T-shirt and didn’t appear to be drenched in his own sweat at all. Bailey was suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. He didn’t wait for her to invite him in before he moved past her and into her small entryway.
“Jesus, Bailey. You know you could die of heat exhaustion in here.” She said nothing. She wasn’t about to admit she couldn’t afford to have the power turned on. “Why the hell don’t you have the air on?”
“It’s not . . . working.” She turned to walk away and froze mid-step when she heard the very recognizable sound of the light switch being flipped. She turned slowly toward him, her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. His eyes seared into her, but he said nothing. She didn’t bother trying to explain or make excuses. At the moment her tongue was in the way, and she couldn’t have spoken anyway. She was just too embarrassed. Rather than try to communicate with him, she turned back toward the kitchen, and he followed her. Bailey sank into her chair at the table, closing the newspaper quickly, but not before she caught Darren glancing down at it.
She watched as he moved to the counter, searching the drawers until he came across a washrag. He ran it under the cold water faucet. She was a bit dumbfounded and had no idea what he intended to do short of washing the dishes for her, and she certainly wasn’t expecting that. When he turned back to her, she just stared.