Beachwood Bay 04 - Untamed Hearts

hurry up the back stairs. I bypass his apartment on the first floor, and keep climbing, even when the staircase narrows into a winding spiral. Finally, I heave open the rusted fire escape and push outside into the crisp night air.
    The rooftop is empty, home to a couple of old lawn chairs and an ancient grill. I walk slowly to the edge and lean out over the railing.
    Why do you always do this?
    The scene replays in my mind, but I don’t see Trey’s smug face staring back at me. No, I see the blonde girl instead. Sweet, and pretty, and so damn naïve. Sitting there with her perfect family, it never crossed her mind for a second that Trey could betray her.
    I can’t tell if she’s lucky or just another fool.
    He didn’t take me to dinner. They never do. I’m not that girl, you see: the one who gets dates and flowers and sweet whispered goodnights. I’m the one they screw up against the back wall of a club in a neon-lit alley; who they text at 2:00 a.m. when they’re bored and need something to pass the time.
    I always told myself it was better this way. No use believing in a dream that would only fade to ashes in the end. But feeling this used and empty, over and over again… What’s better about that?
    I take a gulp of the whiskey, feeling it sting in the back of my throat. The anger, the adrenalin, it slowly seeps away, leaving me with nothing but the low burn of rejection in my gut. I look out across the harbor and the few lights bobbing on the water, down past the row of tourist stores and the new beachfront townhouses. In the pale dusk light, Beachwood lies quiet and still, lights glimmering,—with nothing to drown out the echoes in my mind.
    “You know what everyone says about her. She’s just a crazy slut. She’s nothing.”
    It’s true. That’s what they do say about me. Growing up in a small town like this, with a junkie mom and a runaway dad, I was never going to escape the gossip. I figured I’d just embrace it instead. Let people say what the hell they want about me: I won’t tie myself up in knots trying to live down the family name. They want to write me off, spread rumors, and ‘tsk’ under their breath as I walk by? Let them.
    I even used to revel in it when I was younger: strutting around town wearing the sluttiest outfits, flirting with all the men, seeing the look of disapproval in everyone’s eyes, like their good opinion meant a damn thing to me. It was all just a game, anyway. And this way, I could feel like I was winning.
    Then everything changed.
    One night: that’s all it took for me to get a glimpse of what life could be like, and after that, it all just felt wrong. The victories didn’t taste so sweet; the gossip and rumors started to get to me. Slowly, my bad reputation felt less like a badge of pride, and more like an albatross around my neck, always dragging me down. Now I wonder what it would be like if I’d grown up normal. Unknown. Able to walk down the street without the whispers behind me, to meet some guy who hadn’t heard the rumors, the half-true legends of all my wild antics. Someone who didn’t think they had an easy shot just because of my last name.
    Someone to know me, the real me.
    I brush away the thought and take another swig of whiskey. This is the rejection talking, and the booze. I know, even if they got to know me, it wouldn’t mean a thing. A few weeks of playing at happiness, maybe, before they hit the road again.
    If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that people always leave.
    I sink down into one of the chairs. The whiskey is finally working its magic, warming my bones from the inside, even though it feels like I’m made of solid ice. I should go back down and help out Garrett, I know, but I can’t drag myself away just yet. The last wisps of twilight are fading, and way up here, I can pretend the ugly mess downstairs doesn’t exist. Nothing exists but me and the distant lights of the shoreline, so pretty that I can almost forget what this town is like up close.
    I come here all the time. This is my secret spot, up above it all. It’s where I come to think and be alone, to spend hours just watching the bustle of the town below, letting the distant sound of the ocean wash away my pain as I daydream of some other life, some other future, far away from this town and all the memories chasing me down.
    Some good those daydreams are. The years slip past, and I’m still here: hiding away up on my rooftop, while they all