by E. K. Blair
“Yeah,” he bites, cutting me off. “You trusted him to keep his dick in his fucking pants. You have no reason to feel stupid.”
I shrug in defeat, because no matter what he says, I can’t help the way I feel, which is foolish and embarrassed, because I wasn’t good enough for Kason to want me so he had to go cheat.
“No. Don’t fucking do that. He’s the one who should feel stupid. There’s nothing you could’ve done that would justify him fucking another girl.”
“Then why?” I cry as the blood from the rip in my heart seeps out, but I already know the answer. I was too much of a prude for him, and he lost interest. I sensed it this past summer when he started struggling to get an erection with me. In the beginning, it barely took a touch from me for him to get hard. But then he started pushing my hand away because he didn’t want me feeling that I no longer affected him that way. It’s so beyond mortifying when you can’t even turn on your own boyfriend.
Micah pulls me back into his arms, and I cry on his shoulder, wishing I could expel the heartache and humiliation. Wishing I didn’t still love him when I hate him so much. Wishing I never got involved with him in the first place. I knew better than to trust some guy when my father showed me first-hand what jerks men are.
I’m two for two for being hurt by a man I loved.
I take the comfort Micah is offering, but it doesn’t comfort at all. He lets me cry until I tire, and when I’m nothing more than stingy eyes and a stuffy nose, I exhale deeply.
“So, this is why you haven’t been at school?”
“What am I supposed to do? We have three classes together.”
“Fuck him,” he says. “He’s the one who should be hiding out, not you.”
I draw back and rest the side of my head against the back cushion. “Easy for you to say.”
“It should be easy for you, too. He’s a dick wad.”
Micah’s right, he is a dick wad. I’m hurt and I’m angry, but I also miss him. I hate myself for missing him as much as I do. I hate myself more than I hate him because I can’t seem to simply hate him! That hate is tangled with so many other feelings that I get confused, and that’s when I find myself breaking down and crying.
“I’m in one of those classes you have with him. You and I can sit somewhere else, then all you have is two classes with him to get through.”
“Two feels like a million.”
“But it’s not. It’s only two.”
I’m completely drained as I stare at Micah, and when he takes my hand, his voice is sincere when he says, “You want me to talk to him?”
“No.” My response comes instantly. Closing my eyes, I shake my head, repeating, “God, no. That would make everything worse.”
“You want me to kick his ass?”
A sliver of a smile cracks my lips for the first time since Kason left my bed on New Year’s. “He’s your friend, Micah.”
“Is he?”
“Micah . . .”
“You’re my friend, too, Ady,” he says, opting to ditch his nickname for me.
“Still. I don’t want to be the one to throw this drama between the two of you.”
“He did that, not you,” he stresses. “Why are you blaming yourself for something he did? This is all on him. The guy didn’t even have enough balls to tell me what happened when I asked why you weren’t in school. Dude knew why and didn’t say shit.”
I don’t blame him for not telling Micah. It’s human nature to avoid acknowledging when we do something wrong. But this is another thing that I find so conflicting: Kason could’ve easily avoided telling me the truth, but he didn’t. He told me right away, knowing that I would break up with him.
He cowered on the floor, cried out in his own misery, and told me the truth.
Why?
Why not lie to keep me?
Did he even want me?
But if he didn’t want me, then why did it kill him to lose me? Why did he bleed his tears and beg me to love him, not to leave him before I turned my back and walked out the door?
I can’t make sense of any of this, and that makes everything so much worse. I wish it were simple, that he was just a prick. At least then I would be able to understand.
“We’ll park in the lot behind the auditorium tomorrow so you don’t have to see him before your first class together.”
“Who says I’m going to school tomorrow?”
He pushes his fingers through his long hair and, with the slightest hint of a smirk, tells me, “You’re going to school tomorrow. I’ll walk in with you. We’ll leave campus for lunch. Whatever you need.”
“Like a babysitter?”
“Like a friend.”
And that’s exactly what he does when I show up to school the next day. He’s already there waiting for me in his truck. With way more concealer under my eyes than what I typically wear, I step out of my car, dread rifling inside my every cell. I wanted to bail on him today, but I knew he’d only find his way back to my house and ring my doorbell until I couldn’t take the dinging anymore and let him in.
“You ready?”
“No.”
He smiles, and I thank God that at least I have him so I don’t have to bear this day on my own.
Micah slings his arm loosely around my shoulders. “Come on, Guppy. Time to swim with the big fish.”
It took her two weeks to start smiling again.
It hurt to breathe that day.
It was yet another sign that she was moving on. First, it was her eyes, the puffiness subsided and the red slowly started to fade. I’ve been watching her come back to life little by little, while I remain in my self-created purgatory.
After countless attempts of calling, texting, and knocking on her door, I finally had to face reality—it was over. It still is. She hasn’t spoken to me in almost three weeks. Every now and then, I’ll catch her glancing my way from across the classroom. I strain to see if I can find a shred of hope in her eyes, but who am I kidding? There’s no hope for the hopeless.
I fucked up, and I’ve been paying for it ever since. Most days, I don’t even want to attempt to do anything that would make me feel better. I don’t deserve relief. I hurt the only person I’ve ever loved. The one person who trusted me with her heart, and I let her down in the worst way possible. I never wanted to cause her pain. As fucked up as it sounds, I did what I did to avoid all that.
I thought that if I could get myself back to where I was when I first met her, when I had a little more control over my body, then I’d never again have to put her through what happened the night we were about to have sex. The last thing I wanted was to disappoint her again or to make her feel that she was the reason why I couldn’t get it up.
The thing is, I’m confused. I’m confused and angry and stressed the fuck out because I don’t know why I’m so messed up. I don’t know why everything revolves around sex and my constant craving to get off. It’s irritating as shit, and all I was trying to do was fix myself so that I could fix us. But in the end, I broke us—I broke her.
And here she is, looking healed with a semblance of happiness as she walks into the classroom with Micah by her side. The two of them now sit up front and away from me. Aside from the casual “What’s up?” when we pass each other in the halls, Micah and I don’t talk. It doesn’t bother me as much as I would have thought. I’d rather Adaline have him as friend than for her to be alone. After all, I’m the one who put the fracture in our small group, so I’m the one who should be ostracized.
She wears her golden hair down today, and I can still remember how soft it felt between my fingers when I would drag my hands through it. I can still remember how her heart would beat against my chest when she’d fall asleep on top of me while watching television. And I can still taste the little bit of what’s left of her in my mouth.
I have to look away when my stomach pangs in remembrance of how good it felt to be with her, to have someone like her love me and care about me when I’m so undeniably worthle
ss.
I always knew she was too good to be true.
I flip open my textbook and pull out a pen when the bell rings. Chatter subsides from around the room when Mrs. Wexler instructs us to pass forward our homework, and for the next fifty minutes, I steal glances over to the girl who was once mine. I don’t know how I’m still managing to keep my grades up, when she’s all I can think about.
As the final seconds of class tick by, I’m overwhelmed with the same sinking feeling that comes every time she walks out of a class we share. It’s the definable divide that now separates us. Texts no longer tether us during the school day when we aren’t together. Nothing tethers us anymore—only memories.
“Yo, Kase. What’s up?” Rhett, a buddy of mine, shouts when I walk out into the crowded hall. He shoots me a high five and starts talking about the party he’s throwing this weekend.
I only half pay attention when I hear Trent’s voice from a few lockers down. “So, you guys coming tonight, or what?”
I peer over my shoulder to see Micah sling his arm around Adaline. His touch on her twists my gut. Whatever he just said causes her to laugh, but it’s when he kisses her cheek, that I uncoil.
In two quick steps, I slam my hands against his chest and push him away from her, with a gritty, “What the fuck, man?”
“Dude, chill.”
“Don’t fucking touch her.”
“Kason, stop!” My Everything snaps, grabbing my arm and pulling me back from completely losing it with my so-called friend.
Everyone around us stares as Micah steps up to me with a sneering, “What’s your problem, man?”
“Leave him alone, Kason. He was only kidding around.”
I look to Adaline and my chest seizes. “Are you two together?”
Too quickly, she lets go of my arm. A touch I wasn’t ready to lose. A touch that heals and wounds all at the same time; its absence only antagonizing my anger for everything I’ve lost, and I spit it out on Micah, because I wouldn’t dare accost Adaline. “Keep your fucking hands off her!”
“Why? You think yours are any better?” he goads me with a shit-eating grin. “You treated her like a piece of shit.”
And with everything I did wrong, I know I loved her the best way I knew how. In a flash of a second, I have my fist reared back, but Rhett pulls me away.
“She isn’t worth it, Kase. She’s just some chick.”
Jerking out of his grip, my neck flames when I get in his face, temper lost, and fume, “What the fuck did you say? Just some chick?”
“What is going on out here, Kason?” Mrs. Wexler scolds as she steps in. “You want to explain this outburst in the principal’s office?”
“It was a misunderstanding. Kason didn’t do anything wrong.” Adaline immediately defends, and I’m in shock that she would even care enough to keep me out of trouble.
“I suggest you all get to your next class and keep yourselves under control.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I respond, and when Adaline turns to look at me, I want to say something, anything, but I can’t. My heart won’t let me.
Before I know it, Micah’s pulling her away, and I want to fucking scream at him for putting his hands on what was supposed to always be mine. As they walk away, leaving me emotionally stalled in the middle of the hall, students begin to move about. Life resumes for everyone but me, and I wonder when it’ll be my turn to be able to move on like Adaline’s been able to do.
Rhett claps his hand over my shoulder. “Forget about her, man.”
With my heart in my throat, I don’t say another word as I turn my back and go about my day.
“You going to be at the Battle of the Bands tonight?” Rhett asks as we head down the hall.
“After what just happened, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“So, what the hell happened between you guys?”
“Nothing,” I grumble before turning down another hall and leaving him behind.
“If you’re hard up for her, she’s going to be there,” he calls out. “Trent’s band is playing.”
I spend the last two classes of the day wrapped up in my head, debating whether I want to show up at the school tonight for the annual Battle of the Bands contest. I figured that was what Trent was asking her about in the hall before I lost my shit, but Rhett just confirmed it.
I hate that, after all we shared, we’re so incredibly detached from each other. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to have her back, to have her understand that my heart was in the right place even though my actions were the wrong ones. How do I even begin to try to explain that fucked-up logic to her when it’s anything but logical?
When the final bell rings, urgency takes me by the throat as it does at the end of every day. I can’t get out of the school fast enough, and as much as I want to fight this off, I know I can’t. The more I deny myself, the worse I become. But at the same time, the more I give in, the worse I become. No matter what I do, it’s a losing battle. With each month, I’m more and more dependent on the rush that comes with each release.
Weak and powerless, I drive to the nearest gas station, lock myself in the stench-filled bathroom, and beat off. For the moment, I’m transfixed by the intoxication of pleasure that races through my bloodstream. My whole body singes in excitement as I work myself closer and closer. Gripping my hand on the edge of the sink, I close my eyes and imagine Adaline in the obscenest way and shoot my load into a wad of toilet paper.
With my dick still out, I try to catch my breath as shame devours the buzz of gratification. I look at myself in the mirror and curse the guy staring back at me.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
When I imagine all the possible responses, they all come up null. Because what the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I holed up in a skeezy bathroom, getting myself off to indecent thoughts of the girl I love? Nothing about this feels okay anymore.
Is it because I’ve never had to consider anyone aside from myself, so indulgence was always easy? It wasn’t until Adaline came into the mix that I started to see how corrosive this craving was. It’s made me lose the one thing I never wanted to lose.
Disgust snakes around me, and I zip my pants before bolting out of the bathroom. Every step is a battle to clear my head of my own tormenting thoughts. But torment lingers on, because it’s her day on my work schedule.
I was sure Adaline’s mother would’ve requested another employee to maintain their pool after she found out what I did to her daughter, but I haven’t been given a different route. It should be me to request the change, but, as pathetic as it sounds, I’ll take any thread that ties me to Adaline, even if it is cleaning her damn pool.
She’s my second to last stop of the day, and from behind the protection of my sunglasses, I sneak a peek up to her window. She’s tucked behind the wide slats of her shutters. She thinks I can’t see her, but I do. It isn’t the first time I’ve caught her watching me, but where there was once hope, now dwells dejection.
Maybe if she knew this side of me, the side I’m too ashamed and embarrassed to tell anyone about, she’d listen to me. I doubt I’ll ever be able to muster enough courage to expose my truth to her. I’m caged and locked up, imprisoned from the one person I want most of all.
I want to talk to her, if anything, to simply remind her of how much I still love her.
She continues to watch me as I gather all my supplies and head out to my work truck. And I know that even if I showed up tonight and found a way to corner her, it wouldn’t be enough. I don’t want to force her to listen to me. I don’t want to force her to do anything she’s either not ready to do or that she simply doesn’t want to do. All that would serve is my selfishness, and it isn’t me I’m concerned about—it’s her. If she’s to listen to me, it needs to be because she wants to. She deserves far better than some thoughtless, persistent asshole. She’s so damn delicate but so significant that she’s able to bring the sun to its knees every night. I just wish it were me still sitting next to her
as it happens.
I touched him.
It was a little over a week ago, but my skin still radiates from the contact.
He lost his temper with Micah at school, and I had to pull him back before he did something stupid. I grabbed his arm. I even said his name after promising myself I wouldn’t utter it again. But I did, and I immediately felt the effects.
Like air flowing with a vengeance through the punctured holes of my heart, it stung and reminded me that I still missed him.
I didn’t need the reminder, though. The loss is ever-present.
My laughs are forced. My smiles are fake. But the loneliness that follows me around is so very real.
It’s February now. A solid month has passed since we broke up, and I still can’t seem to get over him. Although the initial anger and shock have worn off, what I’m left with feels far worse. It’s the exposed wound beneath the madness that I must deal with. Sometimes at night, I lie in bed and think about the same things I used to when I found out about him and Katy. I never asked who it was he cheated on me with, but I wonder how it happened and where it happened. Was it loving? Was it fast? Was it slow? Did he hold her when it was over? I make myself sick with the million questions that plague me, mock me, and remind me that no matter how much he claimed he loved me, his hands never touched me like they’ve touched others.
And then there’s the vile of jealously. It’s a putrid cocktail I’m forced to swallow every day, and I’m so far beyond ready to move on. He destroyed my self-worth, and the aftermath has been a detrimental slap in my face, and I need to find a way to let go of him.
In an attempt to do just that, I called his mother a couple days ago to make sure she’d be at the apartment after school today. Several of my belongings are still over there, and it’s time I pick them up. Knowing Kason would be working, I told her I’d be stopping by.
It’s strange to be sitting in this parking lot, staring up the stairs that lead to the apartment I used to love coming to. There was no better feeling than to be in Kason’s space, a world he kept private from everyone but me. It felt special to see the side of him no one else got to. But all of that is gone now.
