The rest of the time seemed to fly by. Aimee was ecstatic Brandi left. She could keep herself busy getting the inventory into the computer, then shelving the books. An hour before closing, she went through each section and ordered the books. She looked around the store at the progress she had made her first day back this week. She wondered what Debra and Jeff had done the whole time she was gone. About ten minutes before seven, Jeff wandered in with a full bank bag. “So, how did she do?” Jeff asked.
Aimee was so tempted to tell him not to expect any sales at all when Brandi was on shift, but she figured he would find out soon enough and fire her. Of course, if Brandi's dad had anything to do with her getting the job, Aimee doubted Jeff would let her go. If someone dished out serious money to buy one of his rare books, Jeff would do anything to get that person to return and buy another one; anything like hiring Mr. Peter's worthless daughter. But, Aimee answered, “Training on everything she needs to know will be done by tomorrow.”
At seven, Aimee locked the doors, then went to Jeff's door to tell him she was leaving. “Did y'all get the inventory put up?” he asked.
Aimee nodded. “Yep,” she answered. She wasn't about to tell him she got it up herself because Brandi didn't want to learn how to do it. Aimee was too exhausted to try to convince Jeff he had made a lousy decision hiring Brandi. So, she tossed her backpack over her shoulder and told him she would be back at noon on Sunday.
Aimee left out the front and relocked the door. She wandered through the mall, aimlessly window shopping at random stores. She wasn't really interested in anything she looked at. She was killing time because her plan after work was to stop by the house and pick up some things on her way back to the apartment. Only now she wasn't feeling so much like going by the house, especially if it meant facing Dylan. After a few minutes, despite trying to waste time, she made it to the mall exit, and a couple minutes later she found her car. She opened the door, tossed her pack onto the passenger side, pulled her phone from her back pocket, got in and locked the door. After staring at the phone for a good ten seconds, she tapped open the text from Dylan. It read:
I am so sorry...please tell me what I can do to make this up to you...love you forever...Dylan
The butterflies started flying in her stomach. She quickly closed the text and dropped the phone in the cupholder, then sucked in a long breath. The hurt was still raw, and she didn't know if there was anything that would make it go away. True, she rationalized, he was only kissing her, so he admits, but it looked like he was enjoying it...a lot. She stuck her key in the ignition. Another thought struck her, “But he was drunk...” After a few seconds she said in a low voice, “No excuse. Drunk or pissed off, or whatever, it just wasn't right what he did.” Aimee turned the key and left the mall.
After a few minutes she made it to their subdivision. As soon as she turned onto their street, she spotted Dylan's FJ. The butterflies turned into a hail storm in her gut. She stopped a few houses down from the house and thought about turning around, except she needed to get some of her things so she could exist until she decided what she wanted to do. She put the car back into Drive, then slowly pulled into the driveway. The porch light wasn't on, so she fumbled in the dark getting the right key. Finally, she stuck the key in the deadbolt and started to turn it. The door suddenly opened, and Dylan stood in the entry. It was dark in the living room, and only a faint light above the sink illuminated the area. Aimee started to step into the entry, but she didn't see Dylan's bag still lying on the floor from the day before. Clumsily, she fell over it and went down landing hard on the wooden floor.
“Damn!” she screamed out, but before she could move, Dylan was at her side.
“Are you hurt?!” he anxiously questioned.
“No, I don't think so,” Aimee answered as she turned over and sat up, staying put for a few seconds to assess any damage.
“I'm so sorry,” Dylan said. “Here let me help you up.” Dylan carefully eased his arm around her waist, took her hand gently into his, and assisted as she got up. For a few seconds, Dylan kept his arm tight around her, like he was her protector. They looked into each other's eyes in the low light slipping in from the kitchen. Aimee immediately noticed moisture in Dylan's eyes, and his cheeks were damp.
“You okay?” he asked after he tried to hide a sniffle.
Aimee waited a second to make sure, then answered, “Yeah, I'm okay.” She paused another second, then asked, “Are you?”
Dylan suddenly dropped his arm from around her, pushed the door shut, and stepped away. He sat back onto the stool, took a sip of his beer, put the bottle down, then answered in a voice almost inaudible, “No, I'm not.”
Aimee stepped to the other side of the counter and noticed a plate with a sandwich. One bite was missing. “I came by this morning to get something to wear to work. You weren't here.”
“No, I couldn't stay here last night, not by myself. I...uh..well, I don't know, Aimee. I don't think I can stay here without you.” He looked up at Aimee. The pain on his face was chiseled deep into it like a granite statue. Aimee's heart went out to him. She realized he felt just as bad as she did, only his pain wasn't hurt, it had to be guilt, and hopefully regret. She thought hard for a few seconds. Her hurt was too new, too fresh to push it to the side and forgive. Not yet.
Aimee noticed the beer bottle was half empty. “Where did you get the beer?” she asked.
“I fell asleep on the couch at Mark and Jason's last night. Like I said, I couldn't stay here without you. Mark gave me a six pack to bring home before I left this morning. Look for yourself. This is my first one.”
Aimee looked at Dylan, then opened the refrigerator and immediately spotted a six pack with one missing. She shut the door, and then stated, “I'm not so sure you should be drinking, Dylan. It seems to mess with your ability to make good decisions. Besides, if you need to drive, you shouldn't after you've been drinking. If you get pulled over, you might get more than a ticket.”
“Why do you even care what happens to me?” he asked, then he took another sip and put the bottle down. The moisture in his eyes still was there. Aimee stepped slowly to the counter and stared long into his sad eyes.
“Because, despite what you did, I still love you more than you will ever believe...” Dylan jumped off the stool and started around the corner towards Aimee before she could finish. She stepped back. “...but I'm not sure we can get through this, at least, I'm not sure I can.”
“No, don't say that, Aimee,” Dylan begged. “I don't know what I can say, or do to make you believe how sorry I am, and I know you have every right to hate me, but it will never happen again. I love you, and I was wrong to let it happen. I hate Brandi, and you know that. I don't know why I let her get to me.” Dylan started to step closer, but Aimee stepped back another step. He suddenly grabbed his beer and dumped it out into the sink. “There. Gone. No more drinking. I promise. I promise I will never, ever do anything again to make you doubt my love.” He stood there staring into Aimee's face. His breathing was so hard his chest pounded like he had been running. Aimee wanted to forgive. The man she loved and needed more than anything else was begging for her to forgive him, to trust that he would never, ever hurt her again. Still, she wasn't ready. If it had been anyone else but Brandi, she might have been able to reach out, touch his cheek, and cradle him in her arms, and tell him he was forgiven. But it wasn't just anyone, it was Brandi.
“Dylan, I believe you are sorry, but I'm not ready yet. Every time I see you, I think about you in that horrible video.”
“But that wasn't me, not the real me, and you know that. Aimee, you know I don't drink, and I was drunk.”
“That's not an excuse, Dylan.”
Dylan nodded. “I know,” he agreed, “but I'll do anything, anything you want, if you'll come back.”
Aimee shook her head. She reached out and touched his wet cheek, then said, “I can't. Not now. Give me some time, okay?”
Dylan grabbed her hand and held it agai
nst his cheek. She could feel the tears welling up in his body, and she couldn't stand it anymore. She pulled her hand from his, then quickly went to the bedroom. He didn't follow. After a few minutes, she had packed some clothes into her suitcase, pulled together a case of toiletries and makeup, found her books under the bed, then grabbed her laptop off the desk in the back bedroom. Aimee looked around the room. Suddenly her heart ached like she would die. The tears were coming. She raced out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the living room. Dylan was sitting on the stool again, with his back to her. “Please don't go. I love you with all my heart,” he said in a whisper, his voice breaking through the words.
He looked over his shoulder as she opened the door. Aimee didn't look back. She said softly, “I love you more,” then she stepped out on the porch and slammed the door. The tears gushed down her face.
Chapter 17 Heartaches
The Winter quarter started, and Aimee's schedule quickly got busy. She was taking four classes this term, and working lots of hours at the old store near campus. As the assistant manager she didn't have to go over to the store at the mall often. Her heart still ached, and seeing Brandi, even occasionally, didn't help to mend the hurt. Jeff was more than happy to go whenever Brandi was scheduled to work.
Aimee was still staying at James and Sacha's apartment, but not ready to call it her residence again. Dylan wasn't giving up on trying to convince Aimee he was sincerely sorry for his indiscretion, and he loved her with all his heart, and he missed her more than he could express in his texts or voice messages. Aimee got messages daily. She succinctly replied she wasn't ready to return. Fortunately, she managed to avoid running into Dylan on campus, and he was at least respecting her need for some space. A couple days after their separation, Dylan came by the apartment to see Aimee, and James made it really clear that Dylan needed to give her some distance until she could decide what she wanted to do. Dylan left at the end of his discussion with James stating he wouldn't come back, but he wasn't giving up. He was determined to get her back somehow, and he told James to tell Aimee how he felt.
After a couple weeks of the new term, Aimee settled into her routine of craziness relieved she hadn't run into Dylan or Joseph on campus, or off. She did her best to isolate herself so she didn't have any encounters with either. The hurt was still very much present; however, keeping busy helped her to not perseverate on it, or perhaps it just kept her from dealing with it. Either way, she knew sooner or later she had to figure out what she should do about her heartache so it could heal. Only, she wasn't quite ready yet to get on with the mending.
Aimee promised herself she'd get back into her training, so every morning, rain or cold, she hit the pavement at 5:30 am and put in at least five miles. Sarah and Lynn usually joined her, and the three would keep each other in pace and chat a little bit along the way. One cold morning, Aimee passed the street where Dylan's house was, and spotted Lynn and Sarah coming up that street instead of their own. Aimee waited for them to join her. All three continued at a pretty good pace, so talking was in between labored breaths.
“Hey...” Sarah said as they all jogged off down the main road on their route, “...I haven't...uh...I haven't seen your...car at the house in a...while.”
“Yeah...” Lynn chimed in, “and...we still...wanna...do a house...warming party.”
Aimee didn't want to explain why her car wasn't at the house, nor that a housewarming party wasn't necessary because she really didn't want anyone to know she and Dylan were separated. So, she just told them her schedule this quarter was brutal, so maybe after the quarter was over it would be better. Sarah and Lynn thought that would work. They ran for a couple miles in silence when all of a sudden Sarah remembered something she wanted to share with Aimee.
“Hey...we missed you...at the football...awards banquet...a couple weekends ago...Dylan was by...himself...and he didn't seem...too pumped about...their...championship.”
“And,” Lynn cut in, “he and Andrew...Murphy...got into it...out in the hallway...after the awards...Andrew took a swing at him...and there was yelling...Andrew and his date...were asked to leave...and Dylan left pretty quick...after that...too.”
“So...what's up...with that?” Sarah asked.
“I don't know,” admitted Aimee. The banquet was the weekend after the first week of school. Dylan texted her about it hoping she would at least go to it with him like they had planned, but Aimee turned him down. Aimee hadn't heard about any confrontation with Dylan and Andrew, but she could only guess it had to do with the New Year’s Eve party, and Dylan and Brandi. Since Brandi was still dating Andrew, by Brandi's report, Aimee figured Brandi probably lied to Andrew and made it seem like Dylan was the one hitting on Brandi. Dylan was wrong for what he did, but Brandi was pure evil. Aimee knew, without any doubt, Brandi preyed on Dylan as soon as she realized Aimee wasn't at the party with him. Aimee replied,“Dylan hasn't mentioned...anything...to me about it.”
Sarah looked over at Lynn and shook her head, then said, “Well, the coach was...pretty...pissed at both...of them...but since Andrew...started it...he got asked...to leave.”
“Yeah, I don't blame...the coach...for being upset,” Aimee got out. They had doubled back by then, and almost to where they would split off. Aimee had been thinking about the banquet story Lynn and Sarah shared. Dylan failed to say anything about it in any of his texts or messages, but she figured he wanted to forget it happened, especially since it was at the awards banquet.
“Bye...I'll see you tomorrow...maybe,” Aimee got out as she stopped to catch her breath at her street.
“Mañana,” both Sarah and Lynn said, then they started jogging towards their street. Aimee looked down the street and spotted Dylan's FJ. A piece of her heart wanted her to jog down the street and knock on the door, and find out for herself what happened at the banquet, but a voice in her head told her she wasn't ready yet to face Dylan. Her friends had disappeared down their street, so Aimee jogged back to the apartment.
Sacha and James were already up and studying at the dining table when Aimee came through the door. Both looked up at her and said together, “Good morning.” James stuck his head back in his book, but Sacha asked about her run. Aimee grabbed a glass of water, gulped it down, then told her she was almost back to where she was before she went to New York. Aimee excused herself, and found something to wear to school, then jumped into the shower. She had an 8 o'clock class, so after drying her hair halfway, she dressed and quickly made herself a P&J sandwich for lunch. Usually she would go to the library after her first class and study until noon, then she'd eat her lunch as she walked to her second class.
Aimee looked up at the clock on the study room's wall. It read 11:45. She studied in a room on the second floor of the library she reserved on her T-days. She was scheduled to work three until close, then she would go home, eat a bite, study some more, then go to bed. She repeated this every day. Run. School. Work. Run. School. Work. And a little time in between each day to eat and get ready for the next activity. Aimee purposefully immersed herself into studying and working so she didn't have to deal with the hurt she still felt. Daily she continued getting texts or voice messages from Dylan telling her how much he missed her, and how much he loved her, and begging her to come home. So far the separation wasn't giving her time to heal, and Aimee felt the energy draining from her. Keeping up with school was becoming more and more an effort. Aimee recognized the empty feeling. It wasn't new to her. She had dealt with depression most of her life because of the loss of her mother. Now, she had lost her soul mate, and her days seemed to blend from one to another, with little happiness.
At 11:53, Aimee flew down the steps and out the building. The next class was in the liberal arts building way on the other side of campus. If she walked fast, she could get there in time to eat her lunch, then be early to class. She made it to the building at 12:05, then sat down on a bench inside the building to enjoy her sandwich. Afterwards, she took the stairs to the second floor for he
r English class. The stairwell was crowded with students exiting from the last class so Aimee couldn't pass the people poking in front of her. She looked about halfway up and coming down in the midst of all the students was Joseph. He smiled instantly. Surprised, Aimee nodded and kept moving up. What the heck is he doing in this building? Aimee wondered. When she got to the landing, Aimee stopped briefly and looked behind her. Three people back, and coming up the stairs, was Joseph. She rapidly went through the door to the second floor, and tried to hurry to class. But before she could get ten feet, she heard his voice.
“Aimee,” Joseph called loudly after her.
She thought about pretending she didn't hear him, but a couple people in front of her turned and looked back at his noisy greeting. Aimee suddenly halted, then slowly turned around.
“Hi, Joseph.”
“You have a class now?”
“Yes, English.”
Joseph looked up at the clock in the hallway. “Well, you have about fifteen minutes before it starts.”
“I really need to get in there early so I can finish an outline.”
“Sure,” Joseph said. Aimee started to turn when he added, “So, I'll see you later.”
Aimee nodded, then answered, “Bye.” She sped into her class.
An hour and a half later, she came out of class. She had about forty-five minutes before she had to get to work so she could take her time getting there. Slowly she took the steps to the first floor, and when she came out into the lobby, there was Joseph sitting on a bench.
Whatthahell? Aimee wondered. Is he stalking me?
The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: Seeking Others Page 33
