by K. Ryan
"What do you mean?"
That seemed like as good a response as any.
She eyed me carefully, like she was weighing whether or not she could trust me with whatever she wanted to say. All I could do was pray she judged me and found me worthy. How was I supposed to help her, to be a good friend to her, if she didn't trust me?
"I think I need to break up with Brandon," she whispered.
"Okay," I exhaled. That wasn't what I expected to hear, as much as I'd wanted to hear it, but at least she was talking. "So, that's a good thing, right?"
"I just feel horrible," she sniffed, wiping a fresh tear from her cheek.
Seeing her cry, her face crumbling and blotchy with wet tears—that was probably the worst thing I'd ever seen and I'd seen an awful lot of shit in my life.
"Hey," I reached out and mindlessly brushed a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault if it's just not workin' out with him. You're perfectly entitled to do whatever makes you happy."
She laughed a little at that and I wiped away another tear from her cheek. After that, I couldn't stop myself from throwing an arm around her to tuck her under my shoulder.
"Tell me what's goin' on, Iz," I murmured into her hair. "I can't help you if I don't know what's goin' on."
She curled her legs underneath her and leaned all her weight into me like she was clinging to me for dear life. Maybe she actually was and I hated myself a little right now for enjoying the way her body fit against me, the way her cheek seemed to hit at just the right spot on my shoulder...
"I did something I shouldn't have," she whispered into my shoulder. "I feel like such an asshole for doing it and I never should've let it go that far."
I gently lifted her head away from my shoulder so I could get a better look at her. "What do you mean?"
"I..." Isabelle managed to choke out before burying her head into my shoulder again as a wave of sobs racked her entire body. I held her quietly as she cried, deciding it was best to just let her get it all out now. Maybe then, when it was all over with, maybe then she could finally tell me what was happening here.
Then I heard her hoarse voice again: "I slept with him tonight."
I blew out a breath to keep myself from reacting. Honestly, I'd suspected as much when she called me, but from what she'd just told me, it sounded like it was closer on the consensual side of things, unlike my overactive conclusions. Still, I hadn't prepared myself for how much actually hearing the words would affect me. Like a sucker punch to the gut. That's what it felt like. Knocked the fucking wind out of me.
And it was so hypocritical it wasn't funny because I'd been with someone else tonight too. Literally right before she'd called me. But the thing was, that girl I'd plucked from the clubhouse's main floor wasn't who I wanted.
I had a sinking feeling that the one I'd really wanted tonight was nestled under my arm right now and I had no clue what to do about it.
So, I did what I do best and deflected my attention elsewhere.
"Okay," I whispered into her hair. That was the best I could come up with and even that was a challenge.
"I don't know why I did it," she laughed and pushed some hair off her face as she spoke. "I guess I felt guilty for letting him try so hard."
"Try hard at what?"
"Being my boyfriend," she shrugged a little too easily. "I don't know why I started seeing him again in the first place. It was just..."
"Old habits die hard, huh?" I offered.
"Yeah," she nodded against my chest. "Something like that. He was just being so nice and he was putting so much effort into making it work this time around. I guess I thought maybe that was enough for the both of us. But now, I just feel, I don't know. I just feel dirty, like I need to take a shower or something. Being with Brandon was easy...it was comfortable, but now I know I'm just going backwards with him and that's not what I wanna do."
I was completely out of my element here. Then she forced another laugh again and abruptly pulled herself out of my arms to wipe her face. She curled her legs underneath her, but still leaned against my arm. I didn't realize how grateful I was for that warmth until it was almost gone.
"Look, Caleb," she started again, more firmly this time. "I'm not a..."
"A prude?" I offered and Isabelle smacked me on the arm.
"Fine, I'm not a prude," she laughed. "And it's not like I was exactly a virgin either. It's just that I can't do the no-strings thing, you know what I mean? Don't laugh at me, but I guess I'm not the kind of girl that can just hook up with someone and be okay with it not meaning anything. I need the emotional attachment. I need it to mean something. And it wasn't there with Brandon tonight and I did it anyways because...I'm not really sure why. And I feel like crap now for doing it."
I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. "I get it, Iz. There's no shame in that. In fact, there's absolutely zero shame in that. You haven't done anything wrong here. You know that, right?"
It took her a little too long to find the words to respond. "Then why do I feel so awful right now?"
I smiled and fought the urge to press my lips into her hair. "Because you're a good person. That's why it feels bad now. But I can tell you this much, I wish I had half the conscience that you do. I'm not kidding. I think you might be on to somethin' about being with somebody you actually care about. It just feels a little empty when it's not. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel."
"Then why do we do it?"
"Well," I grinned. "I can tell you from experience that I think I kept hopin' it would make me feel number than alcohol ever could. Maybe not so much physically but emotionally, if that makes any sense. And if it makes you feel any better, it used to be pretty easy for me, but not so much anymore."
"No?"
"I guess I just realized that it's not fixing any of my shit any faster. I'm still pretty messed up in the head and all the mountains of Jack and one-night stands in the world aren't gonna make that better any time soon. And I know I need to quit all that. I just...I'm not gonna do that anymore, okay?"
I needed her to understand that. I needed her to know I was done with all that. And when she smiled and leaned her head against my chest, I felt like I could breathe again. Maybe I didn't deserve to have that as my reward, but I was gonna take it anyways.
"I figured you'd get there eventually, but thank you for telling me," she whispered. "And you're not messed up, Caleb. No more than me or anyone else."
"Thanks."
"No problem."
When she laid her head on my shoulder again, I quickly shifted my focus back on the TV to keep my fingers from exploring the bare skin in between her shorts and her tank top.
"You feelin' better?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she nodded. "I'm sorry you had to deal with all this. I feel like I've been a complete train wreck the last couple of times I've seen you and I'm sure this wasn't exactly on your list of things to do tonight."
"Hey," I told her. "I'm glad you called, Iz. You know I got your back, right? If it's your dad, if you need to talk, all you gotta do is call me and I'll be there."
This time, there was no hesitation, no doubt, and no regret in her eyes as she nodded back to me. I just pulled her closer against my chest, knowing I wouldn't always get to feel this, that I wouldn't always get to spend my nights on a couch, watching a movie with my arm wrapped around a beautiful girl.
In the morning, she would just be my friend again, but for tonight, maybe I could get away with letting myself wonder what it would be like if I was lucky enough to have this all the time.
"Everything's gonna be alright now, Iz," I murmured into her hair. "Everything will work itself out and you'll be exactly where you're supposed to be, doing exactly what you should be doing. You can't beat yourself up over things you can't change."
I only wished I could say the same for myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
One Step Forward
Isabelle
It didn't matter that I'd done everything in my power to make this as easy on Brandon as possible. I'd waited until we were alone, until we could really sit down and have a real conversation. All I wanted to do at this point was let him down as gently and as painlessly as possible.
Brandon, unfortunately, had other ideas. In fact, he was doing everything in his power to make this as difficult on me as possible.
"So...what?" Brandon was staring at me like he hadn't heard me literally just say we needed to break up.
"What do you mean?"
Maybe if I clarified one more time that this was permanent and that no, it wasn't him...
Brandon just shrugged and frowned down at me. "I mean, if you need some time, I get it. I just don't see why it needs to be like this, Isabelle. This is our chance to get things right this time around. Don't you want things to be just like they used to be?"
Where was the nearest wall? I needed to bang my head into something hard. Preferably concrete.
"That's what I've been trying to say," I couldn't stop myself from gritting my teeth. "Everything is exactly like it used to be. That's not what I want right now."
Oh no...why did I have to say right now? He was going to read too much into that and pretty soon, getting him to face reality and really listen to me was going to be like pulling teeth, one bloody incisor at a time.
"Well, you just need some time, right?" he asked hopefully, shifting from one foot to the other.
"No," I shook my head. "That's not what I meant."
"Okay."
"This," I gestured between us, "is exactly the same as it used to be. At least, I guess it is on your end, but it's not what I want anymore. We're 21 and I don't want to be doing the exact same things I did in high school with the exact same people. I'd like to try to grow up a little and I can't do that if I'm still stuck like this. Please don't take that the wrong way because this really has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me."
Brandon's coffee-colored eyes melted into a burnt amber as he seemed to finally absorb what I was telling him. Any hope of a reconciliation seemed to dissipate in his expression and a pang of guilt stabbed at me. This was what I'd wanted since the night we slept together, with disastrous results on my end, but now that he was finally listening, the aftermath wasn't going to be pretty.
"Is this about Sawyer?"
I blinked.
"What?"
Brandon licked his lips, glaring at me with a menace I'd never seen before, at least not directed at me. "I guess that means you think I'm an idiot then."
Was this some kind of sick joke?
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."
"Right," he folded his arms across his chest and the air between us shifted. "You think I haven't seen the way he looks at you? That I haven't seen him touch you for shit's sake?"
"Caleb and I are friends."
He threw his head back to laugh, but it just came out bitter and spiteful. "My ass you're friends."
"Brandon, this has nothing to do with him. This is about us and about us not working. I've tried to be nice about this because, honestly, this isn't really about you, but you don't have to be such a fucking jerk about it."
The minute the words came flying out, I wanted to clamp my hand around my mouth. I knew him well enough to know that the it had pretty much just hit the fan.
"I'm the jerk? I'm the asshole?" His face had flushed a scary shade of crimson. "Why did you even start this with me again? Why did you even go through with it?"
I deserved that. I really did. What I did not deserve, however, was being spoken to like I was some kind of heartless and conniving bitch. Maybe I had used him as a placeholder for something, but it wasn't like I'd done it with malicious intentions. So much for trying to end things quietly and respectfully.
"How the hell was I supposed to know I would end up feeling this way? I have nothing but good memories of us together when we were in high school, but you know what? We're not in high school anymore, Brandon, and it's time to grow the hell up. That goes for both of us."
"Oh right," he threw his hands up in the air. "The way I see it, you've just traded one for the other here, Isabelle. You think I'm just doing the same shit I was doing in high school with the same people? What about Sawyer, huh? What the hell is he doing? This is complete bullshit. You know that, right? Just one excuse after the other."
"I told you before—this has nothing to do with Caleb or anyone else," I clamped my teeth down on my bottom lip in unbridled frustration. This whole thing just escalated out of my control and now I was done trying to play nice.
I needed this to be over. Now.
"So this is it, Isabelle? This is how you wanna end it?"
I folded my arms across my chest and refused to budge. "Yeah. It is. I think you should leave now."
"What a waste of time," he spat as he shoved past me and stalked towards his car.
It wasn't until that stupid, pretentious, asshole Tundra was all the way down the street that I felt like I could finally exhale. All the weight just disappeared from my shoulders and relief seemed to seep into every pore.
Finally.
Moving forward didn't seem so far out of reach now. Maybe this was the push I'd needed to snap the hell out of it. Maybe now I could finally figure out a way to fill the void that had just deepened since my mom died.
That final thought propelled me back into the house and sprinting up the stairs. Since I had the whole house to myself until whenever my dad decided to call for a ride, I would have more than enough time to do some research and figure out where the hell to go from here. It was time to finally put myself in the driver's seat and take control for once.
What had Caleb said?
"You'll never know if you don't try, Iz."
It was time to figure out if I could try.
After an hour of scouring my Google search for art schools in North Carolina and beyond, I had a solid list of programs that seemed to be everything I was looking for. Each one had similar course requirements, and from what I could tell, all my gen eds at Duke would transfer, so I'd only be looking at two years for each program instead of four.
There were three in particular that caught my eye: the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, the University of North Carolina School of the Arts, and the Virginia Commonwealth University. Duke, of course, had something to offer in the way of fine arts, but I couldn't even stomach the idea. If getting back together with Brandon was a step backwards, returning to Duke would be jumping back a mile.
The Art Institute of Chicago was ranked number three in the entire country for drawing and painting, which was probably where I'd land, in terms of my major.
Chicago.
God, that would be so cool. That would be freaking awesome...the number three school in the country. The number three school in the country that was also 10 hours away from Claremont, North Carolina.
I just couldn't see myself ending up that far away from home. The distance wasn't something I was comfortable with for reasons I also wasn't quite sure I could articulate.
The program at the Virginia Commonwealth University, or VCU, had the best reputation within a five hour range in terms of productivity and quality. It also had the advantage of working within the Washington, D.C. art scene, which helped make the program more nationally recognized too. Maybe settling for the number seven art school in the country wasn't really settling anyways.
The program here in North Carolina honestly didn't look that different from the one at VCU and it was ranked as the best in the state; in fact, from what I could tell, it seemed like I'd have more control over developing my own coursework and projects, which definitely had its advantages.
The biggest factor that stuck out to me, though, was location. VCU was in Richmond, Virginia which was a big, progressive city with tons of history and even potentially the type of change I was looking for but...it was also five hours away from Claremont. Winston-Salem, where t
he UNC school was located, was less than an hour away and I could easily commute if I really wanted to.
The only thing I could really do was start filling out an application for both. All I could do was try. I probably wouldn't get into either one anyways. Schools like that needed some sort of professional portfolio and all I had was a sketchbook. But, if I wanted to potentially get accepted for the spring semester of this school year, I couldn't waste much time.
After a whole night of filling out over fifteen pages of applications, writing a personal statement that didn't sound too pathetic—how did one explain a semester-long break from Duke anyways?—and somehow keeping all the details straight, I needed a break. And a drink.
I leaned into the wooden chair, my back stiff from sitting for so long, and stretched my arms over my head. I compulsively snatched my phone off the computer desk and scrolled through my contacts until I found Caleb's number and then my fingers flew across the keys to stomp out a text.
Guess what I'm doing right now.
A few moments later, my phone vibrated with his response and I bit back the wide smile that slipped across my face.
What's that Iz?
Applying for art schools.
Less than a second later, his response flashed across the screen and I laughed out loud.
No shit!! Thats awesome Iz!!
I found 2 that look pretty amazing so I'm doing it.
What do u have to lose rite?
I smiled at his response—it was like he could read my mind.
That's exactly what I was thinking.
Ur applyin too the best 1s rite?
I wasn't sure what I was smiling at now: his reply or his grammar. He really wasn't kidding about not paying attention in English class.
Yep, not sure which 1 is the right 1 tho.
U'll figure it out Iz.
Thx, Caleb.
Anytime Iz. Lunch tmrw?
Sounds good. C u tmrw.
Can't wait. Bye, Iz.
Bye.
I set my phone down on the desk, a small smile creeping across my face, and I was ready to get back to work now.
