We Go Way Back

chapter twelve

WE STAY AT The Cathedral for a few more hours, until the building starts to deflate of people. We stick around long enough to have a few more drinks and dance a few more songs, the tension between us getting less and less charged the tipsier we get. He tells me that he thinks I'm funny when I'm drunk, I tell him that I'm sure that he's much more pleasing when he's intoxicated, too.

We leave in the late hours of the night, stumbling into an Uber. The driver only talks to us to say that if we throw up, he'll kick us out. We laugh because that's all we know how to do now and settle against the seats haphazardly.

I'm sleepy, I know that if I close my eyes, I'll fall asleep. So, I turn my head to the side and look at Corbin. His blonde hair is sticking out in a bunch of different angles like stiff, gelled spikes. His cheeks are rosier than usual, and his full lips are tinted with red wine.

"What?" He asks, flicking his finger against my nose. I lazily shove his hand away. "What, Lashy?"

"Lashy? Haven't heard that in a while..."

A few years back, if Corbin wanted to drive me absolutely mad, all he had to do was call me Lashy. I never understood why he called me that, I assumed it was because I lashed out on him often, but it irked me beyond belief.

"Yeah, Lashy, what you looking at?"

"You," I answer with a gurgling laughter. He shakes his head, then a thought pops into my mind. "Hey, when you switched places with me, you said you needed to talk to Pearson and then you whispered something into his ear. What was it?"

Corbin stops to think for a little bit, bringing his forefinger to his jaw. "Oh. I told him that I didn't want to cause a scene but if he touched you again, I'd break off every single one of his fingers and shove them up his fat ass."

My eyes grow wider and wider and wider. "You told him that?" He nods. "To a senior partner." He nods again. "What the hell?"

"I'd tell it to the Pope if he tried to touch you." He sits up straight, spotting his apartment at a distance. "He's lucky I even gave him a warning; I should've kicked his ass right there and then. But he wasn't the only asshole there, not even the worst one."

The car comes to an abrupt halt and my body jerks forward as the driver stops in front of the apartment. I skid across the seats, exiting the car through Corbin's side with my cheeks very much still afire.

I take my heels off as we enter the foyer, holding onto his arm as I unbuckle the ankle straps. He offers to carry them for me, but I refuse. Something about that would be too intimate, too fast. The elevator takes us up to the sixth floor, we cross the hall and Corbin opens the door, welcoming me inside first. I adore my dress, but I'm tired and sweaty, I just want to take it off.

"Can I ask you something?" Corbin asks as we stagger through the living room. I nod, tired. "What did you ever see in that idiot? He's such an ass."

There is no disagreeing there. "I can't really tell you." Actually, I can, but I'm not drunk enough to tell him that I launched myself into the arms of an asshole because he broke my heart. "I just changed so much for him. I stopped hanging out with my friends, I stopped doing the things I liked. I fucking grew out my hair because he liked it."

Corbin takes a seat on the edge of the sofa and blinks slowly. "You look great either way, but I really liked your short hair," he tells me. "It was spunky, it matched your personality better."

I liked my short hair too. It made me feel rebellious and strong. When I let it grow, I think I stopped feeling like that too.

An idea springs up in my drunken mind.