Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

This is wrong.

I’m eighteen. A freshman, and too hungover to see straight.

My body slams into someone smaller, nearly knocking us both over into the brick outside the corner of the building—is this the one I’m supposed to be in?

“Whoa there,” a voice is saying, helping me lean against the wall. “You don’t look so good. Are you all right?”

Do I look all right? I want to snap, but that only makes the pain in my head worse, so I smile and nod, eyes still closed. “I’m fine. Promise.”

Just keep smiling. Isn’t that what the fish from the Disney movie said?

Either way, I do.

The shower goes cold before I realize how long I’ve been standing in the spray. I shake my head, desperate to clear the demons clinging to me for dear life. But it doesn’t work, not really.

Standing at my dresser for too long, I start to forget what I’m there for.

“What’s your name?” the feminine voice asks. I manage to open my eyes, the haze making everything a little blurry. But I can see her, sleek vibrant red ponytail, concern etched across pale skin. She’s kind of beautiful, in a startling way.

“Freddy,” I say. It wasn’t my name a week ago—but everyone’s calling me that, and hearing Matty out of anyone else’s mouth might send me off the deep end… again.

A loud, banging knock against my door—three in quick succession.

“Freddy?” Bennett’s voice calls. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I gasp.

When he doesn’t respond right away, I’m worried how much my tone has given away exactly how not okay I am.

“Okay, Freddy,” she sighs. “I think you’re… sick.” She means drunk, but she’s too polite to say it. “Maybe you should go home.”

I nod, but don’t move, hoping she’ll eventually give up and walk away.

“Let me give you a ride.”

“Practice in fifteen. Be in the car—I’m driving you.”

“I’m good.”

“I can drive myself—”

“You’re not. Are you in the dorms?”

“Yeah, I can walk.” If I can figure out where the dorms are, and possibly where I am.

“That’s the other side of campus. Let me just drive you—my car’s right behind the building in the lot.”

“I’m driving you.” Bennett’s words leave no room for arguing, so I don’t bother responding.

“I can’t miss class.” I choke back an angry sob, feeling stupid and scared. But every single breath hurts deeper. “I need—”

“It’s Saturday,” she says. Somehow that’s more embarrassing than showing up drunk to class, getting my days mixed up. It’s happened before, but I had a system. And I had my mom—

I swallow through pure fire, rubbing my eyes hard enough to physically push back the tears. But it doesn’t help, and they spill out anyway.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Do you— I don’t—”

She sounds as awkward as I feel, which only makes everything worse, shame amplified by a thousand. I shake my head. “Sorry, I— Just give me a minute.”

She does, stepping away and eyeing me a little strangely, like she’s not sure what to do with a crying six-three mess. I swallow back everything that I can, until I feel shakily in control again, a firm grip on my own reins.

I smile at her, and that seems to relax her—as it does with everyone—as I follow her to her car.

“What’s your name?” I ask, halfway out of the parking lot, feeling regretful for not asking earlier.

“Carmen,” she says. “Nice to meet you, Freddy.”

I barely dress for practice before I decide to lie back down.

Just for a few minutes.

The bed is all silken smoothness against my bare back as I stretch my arms out over my head, relaxing a little after a strenuous round. Carmen smirks, satisfied and picturesque as she carries two glasses of dark liquor back into the room, skin shining in the moonlight from her balcony and grand windows.

I run my finger along the hem of her black satin slip, grinning up at her as the room finally stops spinning.

“Feel better?” Carmen asks, handing my glass over. I nod and gulp the shot down quickly. “You did beautifully tonight, Freddy. So talented.”

The praise makes me blush—makes my stomach flop at the strange mix of commendation and snark.

“I have a good teacher,” I say, watching her eyes flare a little.

We ran into each other again, once, before school started—and the realization that the woman I’d kissed impulsively in her car in front of the dorms was my new professor should’ve deterred me. I’d been embarrassed by the entire thing at first, until she asked me to come home with her.

So I did.

And it made me feel good.

I’m late.

Like, nearly twenty minutes late. Which I haven’t done since freshman year. I’m off my game entirely.

I miss a loop on my laces distractedly, cursing beneath my breath.

When she wanted to keep things going, it was almost too easy to say yes. I’d been sexually active since arguably too early, and this unfortunately wouldn’t be the first time it was with a teacher.

But this was different. It was strange, how brutal she wanted me to be with her, and I aimed to please her. I wanted her praise, which I only really received when I fucked her hard and fast, furious. As if…

As if I hated her.

I didn’t like it. But I did like the way she soothed me afterward. Let me cuddle her or stay the night. Agreed to dinners or away trips with me in lieu of aftercare. She fought me on it often, but I was growing desperate for it.

My goalie won’t look at me as I skate onto the ice, head ducked, embarrassed. Coach Harris doesn’t say anything, only sends me a vastly disapproving look. Which makes me think someone told him something they shouldn’t have.

It only feeds the anger and self-hatred churning through me.

“Seriously?” The yelling is what wakes me up, cheek sliding off silk sheets, brow furrowed at the deep male voice yelling in the distance. “You couldn’t have waited a few more weeks?”

“Henry, please, just go. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

That voice is Carmen, I know it. The same thread of snark embedded into every word until you don’t know her real meaning.

“No. It’s my home. Let me through.”

I’m at practice—not there, I almost have to remind myself.

That has me jumping up, pulling on my sweats and almost tripping over my feet, trying manically to get to the commotion in the foyer—no, at the front door.

Carmen is at the door, hip to the frame, blocking someone from getting in.

“Can you just come back tomorrow? You weren’t supposed to be back until—”

“Let me in, Carmen.”

I can’t focus. My skating is choppy, shots sloppy and wide. Toren accused me of playing keep-away once, but this time I really am.

Instead, I try to poke the bear—aka Toren Kane.

Protectiveness rises in me like a tidal wave, ignoring the niggle of wrongness that pinches at my mind.

Carmen eyes me over her shoulder before slipping out and shutting the door behind her.

It makes me pause for a moment. She’s tried to shut me out over and over, but I want her to see how much I care.

I open the door, heart pounding, ready to defend Carmen—show her how much I care.

“What’s going on?” I ask, eyeing the tall older man in a full suit standing across from Carmen. I come to stand by her side, arms crossing over my bare chest as I flick my eyes between them.

She looks… embarrassed.

“Everything okay?”

Toren doesn’t go for it the first few times, even as I wait for his quick clip to my shoulder and shove into the boards once he’s playing defense against me. He’s brutal, but he’s more controlled with the team. Purposefully so.

“Oh my God,” the guy laughs. “You’ve got to be kidding, Car.”

“Henry,” Carmen sighs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t—”

“He’s a fucking kid, Car. Please tell me he’s not a fucking student.”

She doesn’t say anything, her cheeks practically glowing bright red now.

Carmen’s hesitation works like a confirmation, and he shakes his head, eyeing me with a strange, sympathetic expression.

I don’t want that Kane—I want the asshole who almost ruined Rhys’s career, who nearly killed him.

“Leave him alone. It’s… it’s nothing.” She steps forward, looking back at me regretfully. “Freddy, can you go? We’re—”

“What?” I ask. It’s not the right question, but I feel lost and confused. “I thought… I thought we were like—I love you,” I blurt. It isn’t what I should’ve said. Carmen curses and Henry laughs before stepping past us toward the door.

“Sorry, kid,” he says, patting me sharply on the back. “I doubt she mentioned me, but I’m her husband, Henry.”

I flinch, rearing back like he might try to fight me. But he shakes his head. “She does this a lot. It’s fine.”

“Playing nice now, huh?” I chirp, pushing him as he circles me. “I saw the video of your freak-out. The one that got you banned from Harvard—”

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Everything about this wrong and backward, and I cannot figure out what I’m supposed to do.

“Carmen—”

“Freddy,” she says, her head slumping into her hands. She’s embarrassed, has been the whole time… but I’m only now realizing it’s me she’s embarrassed of. “I think you need to go home.”

Toren’s eyes flash, golden flames, as he stops short. “You got something to say?”

“I thought we were… I thought we were together.” The words sound as stupid as they feel, and I rub my face, tears wet against my cheeks.

“Why? Do you?” I get closer, our bodies so near it looks like we’re whispering game plans, not skirting the edges of a brawl. “Who was it? The guy? Or the redhead—”

“It was fun, Freddy,” Carmen says, voice sharp. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re—that’s not what I need.”

She turns on her heel and heads back into her grand house, calling for her husband. I keep my head ducked, humiliation blazing on my face while I stand on the wide front porch in some rich neighborhood like a lost, sad puppy.

Without hesitation, Toren slams me back against the boards and grabs me by the collar.

“Get off it, superstar. You’re on dangerous fucking ground. That’s off-limits.”

He lets me go, starting to skate away—and I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to fight or because I went too far, though I’m leaning toward the latter.

Either way, I’m too desperate for something to get the gnawing under my skin out.

I shove him a little harder as he passes me again, grabbing his collar to be clear in my intentions.

“Hit me,” I snap. Toren’s eyes go a little wide, and a strange smile bleeds across his face.

“Hey,” Rhys calls, ending the play, rushing toward us. He’s been more irritated with Toren since the Harvard game weekend but won’t tell any of us why. “Back off it.”

He’s snapping at Kane, not me, the instigator.

“Fuck off, Koteskiy,” Kane says lazily over his shoulder.

“You wanna fight someone, you can fight with me,” Rhys says, which makes me feel slightly embarrassed knowing I’m the one who wants to fight.noveldrama

Does it piss Kane off that everyone assumes he’s the one trying to fight? Does he feel the same way I do when people call me a playboy, the school slut?

“Yeah?” Kane laughs, mildly distracted by our captain while he keeps ahold of me. “I don’t know, Rhys, seems like you’re all bark and your girlfriend’s all bite.”

Rhys jumps toward us—I’ve almost never seen him fight, but the mention of Sadie has him furious, tossing his gloves down.

“Stop,” Bennett snaps, sliding into the fray. He rips off his cage. “Back off—all of you.” He yanks Rhys back, pulling him away. “Go cool off. You too, Kane.”

“Nah.” Toren sneers, finally releasing my jersey and tossing his gloves off. “Our pretty superstar needs this. Right?”

“Let’s go,” I snarl.

“Hurting, huh?” Toren huffs with a Cheshire cat grin.

“Just fucking hit me, asshole.”

“Sure,” Kane smirks, grabbing my collar and jerking me forward. “But it won’t make you feel any better. Trust me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious,” Toren says, jerking me again. “I’ve been doing this for years.”

“And?”

“And what? Still feels like I got shot in the fucking stomach and I’m bleeding out.” He lands a hit square to my abdomen, but I tense, seeing it coming. “It never stops, and it never hurts less.”

And then, Kane lets it go.

I’m an instigator—a great chirper—but I’m not a fighter. I’ve gotten into a few scrapes, but I’m too good of a player to really fight, to risk a suspension or the penalty for it. But this time I want it—to distract from the pain.

But it doesn’t work.

“You get these fantasies in your head, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I hit him again, clipping his jaw.

“I begged her to get rid of you.”

Another one, but it feels slow already, sluggish. I’m panting, sweat pouring down my face.

“Of course I like you. There’s no part of you I wouldn’t like.”

Flashes of her last night, beautiful and hurting, barrel through my mind. In the backseat of my car, laid out beneath me, streetlights shining over the tanned length of her legs. Her face crumbling, eyes wide like she doesn’t recognize me…

“Matt, no. Stop.”

“You said you wouldn’t push me out.”

I’m distracted, so much so that Toren hits me hard enough to knock me down, jumping on me quickly like he’ll follow through.

But he stops.

“Whatever you did,” Kane snaps, all the enjoyment from the fight rapidly fading. “Fix it.”

He leaves me lying there, the dark threat of his words hovering over me.