Page 31 of Striking Range

But he slumps further, shaking his head. “I don’t understand you anymore. You’re changing.”

I think he may be drunk. I saw him playing games with Kelly and her friends; games that involved a considerable number of shots.

“Changing? Everett, maybe it’s not that I’m changing, and more that you’re only just now truly seeing me.”

I know this most likely isn’t true—that I am changing in some ways. But it’s too personal to admit, and none of my sexual awakening should affect him this deeply.

But the statement pisses Everett off, whether it’s true or not, as he sneers, “I am always looking at you.”

I shiver under the weight of his words, his glare, the overall intensity of him in this moment.

On any given day, Everett is all smiles and golden retriever energy. But since last night, he’s been so… forceful.

“Then why are you shocked?” I press. “I am no different than I always have been.”

Because outside of wanting to swallow him whole, or wanting him to swallow me whole, I am the same as I’ve always been. I don’t understand why he’s freaking out.

“Yes, you are!” He stands, throwing his hands up in annoyance. “You’re taking your clothes off at parties, kissing our friends, getting random numbers at bars!”

I am laughing in his face now. I’m not sure when I closed this distance between us, but my anger is a living thing where it sits inside of me. It feeds off every breath I take and demands I set it free to feast on Everett’s ignorance.

Every time I find myself believing that I’ve killed this part of myself, it comes back in sharper focus, coated in more shame.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Everett. Am I being too independent for you? Am I forgetting to ask for your permission and instead making my own decisions? Am I not allowed to kiss who I want, to strip naked, or to get a stranger’s number?”

He breathes heavily, returning my glare with every bit of heat, and he snaps, “No!”

“Why?!” I all but yell, and in response, Everett takes a step backward.

His eyes widen, his hands shaking at his sides. He seems… manic.

“Why not, Evie?” I continue. “Why should I not kiss Kelly, or fuck that football player? It’s my life!”

A long, tense silence dances between us as he looks at me as if he doesn’t know me. As if I have broken him; like he’s dying.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m going to Henry’s for the night. I’ll see you later.”

Everett grabs his phone from my bed, turning for the door.

I jog after him. “Everett! Wait, why are you going? You’re drunk.”

“I’m Ubering.”

“Just stay! We can talk about this later, but just stay.”

He shakes his head fast and hard as I follow him to the front door. “No. I… I don’t want to sleep here.”

I can feel a hot burn, an ache in my chest at his words. Something that feels way too similar to rejection.

He pauses at the front door, and I stand behind him, my voice suddenly quiet and anxious as I ask, “Why? Why are you running from me?”

He doesn’t turn to face me. “I just… I can’t…”

Everett doesn’t finish his thought. He opens the front door and slips out, gently closing it behind himself.

Everything is falling to pieces around me so quickly; I am so disoriented as I spin in circles in search of a solution, an answer to the madness that surrounds me. I find nothing.

So, instead, I lock the door and do my best to find sleep.