The Girl Next Door > jariana (COMPLETED)

thirty-eight

Justin

The thing I hated most about being on the road were the long drives between states in the West and Midwest. I shook my head while giving the evilest of eyes to the dry, barren Arizona desert. As if this God forsaken land was staring back at me, I flipped it the bird through the window, for good measure. Now there were two things: the long drives between venues and being away from Ariana; and being away from her blew harder than anything I'd ever known before.

Moving uncomfortably in my seat, I stared at her digital image on my phone. Each minute that crawled by meant I'd be home sooner. Waves of nausea washed over me thinking about last night's antics. I kicked myself for drinking too much and acting like an ass. Regret consumed me for allowing myself to be coerced by Mike and Rachel into doing shots and playing Flip Cup. I should've stuck with Flip Cup and stayed away from that fucking devil juice, I thought, holding my stomach.

I should've just not drunk at all. Now I had some random girl, who I can't really remember, texting me. Running my hands through my hair, I wanted to rip it out by the roots. Fuck. Every time, without fail, it happens. It's like I lose my mind or something. If I could punch myself in the face real good, I would. I worried I'd be like my father. How many other women had he been seeing? Or was she the only one? I swore to myself I wouldn't be like my dad.

Sitting up, I stretched my arms high above my head taking in a deep breath. I could smell the faint, boozy aroma that was seeping out of half the occupants riding in the van. I wanted to puke. The aftermath of the night we had wasn't my gig anymore. The regret ran too deep. Getting up I moved to the front passenger seat next to Notting. I wondered what he thought. Why do I care? I'd never given a shit about what he thought, whether he knew or not about our carrying on. I wondered if he could smell what I smelled, or if it was just me being sensitive and hung over. I was anxious inside and really wanted to pick Notting's brain.

"How much longer?" I whispered to Notting and looked back over my shoulder. I was startled to lock eyes with Mike, sitting a few rows back. My blood began to simmer. Something still gnawed at me about him and I couldn't put my finger on it.

Notting's voice pulled me back. "Six-seven hours, depending on any stops," he replied and reached over grabbing my shoulder. "Might as well get some shut eye, you look like you need it."

"Yeah," I agreed softly, glancing down at Ariana's image. "How long did you wait?"

"Wait for what?"

"For Mom."

Notting stiffened at the question. I slouched lower into my seat in an attempt to muffle my voice.

"Notting, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with Ariana," I whispered, not believing what I was hearing myself say. "When did you know you were in love with Mom? I know you guys think I'm not aware of what's going on, but I am."

He stared out the window and I wondered if he would open up.

"I've always been in love with her, Justin." He admitted his voice barely audible, "For as long as I can remember." He nodded pensively.

I admired Notting's honesty. With his hardened good looks and everything else he stood for, he really was one cool package. It didn't bother me hearing his admission. I assumed he meant he loved her even when she was married to my father.

I wondered if he new of my dad's affair. I was too chicken to ask him outright. Notting always doted on Mom. Even when he was in other relationships, they always had a special bond. Maybe he did know about my dad's infidelity and felt sorry for her. But thinking back to one particular moment in time when I spied them in an intimate conversation, he had brushed the hair away from her face and looked lovingly at her. I thought it was brotherly back then. Now I knew it was much more than that. He looked at my mother the way I looked at Ariana.