At last she raised her head and looked at me. Her face was dry. No tears, which threw me off. She let out one last gasping breath and pushed me away.
I searched for the right words to say because I had to be careful. So careful.
“Are you okay?” Oops. Wrong thing.
Her eyes narrowed and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and closed her eyes.
“No, I’m so fucking far from okay, Coen, but you’d be an idiot not to see it.” It was true. I knew she wasn’t okay. This wasn’t a revelation, but not for the reasons that she thought.
“What can I do to help you? What can I do for you? Name it and I’ll do it.”
She turned her back on me and clasped her arms around herself. Holding herself together by sheer force of will.
“I don’t know anymore. I don’t think anything or anyone can help me. Sometimes I… sometimes I feel like I can be who I was before, and then I see it again and I know I’m kidding myself. I’ll never be okay and part of me doesn’t want to be.” She turned back around and gave me the saddest smile I’d ever seen.
“Why not?” I asked, and dreaded the answer.
She shrugged.
“Because some things you can’t come back from.”
I swallowed past a painful lump in my throat and felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t going to let myself fucking cry. Not right now.
“What things, Ingrid? Tell me.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head as she started walking back in the direction of campus.
“Ingrid!” I called out to her, but she didn’t turn around.
“Let me go, Coen,” she threw over her shoulder, her voice shaking. “Just let me go.”
I made it back to my room with shaking legs and collapsed on my bed. What the hell had happened? One minute I’d been spilling my guts to him about all sorts of things and then I was walking away. Again. Shoving away the first good thing I’d had in a while.
I flipped on my back and looked up at my ceiling. My phone buzzed with a text and I knew it would be from him. Who else would it be? I had no one else to text and no one who would text me back.
I had no one. I was alone. An island unto myself and all that. I’d broken off from the rest of the world and let myself float into the blue and I’d been fine with it. I had needed it. Sought it out.
And now… it was like Coen had gotten in a boat and rowed out to find me. To try to bring me back. Tether me to life again. I’d let it happen. I’d been so stupid and I let it happen.
I never should have talked to him. Never should have kissed him. Never should have led him on. To be fair, I did warn him, but he didn’t listen. Well, he was going to listen now.
To the sound of silence.
I didn’t text him back. I skipped class the next day. It was too late in the semester to drop it without incurring a penalty on my GPA, so there was nothing I could do about it, but I could sit far, far away from him. Unfortunately, that meant I had to cram myself in with a group of other people so he couldn’t find an available seat. I got a few weird looks the first day, but soon they went back to ignoring me.
I refused to look for him. To see him when he stopped on the stairs near me and looked for a seat. I’d sent the clearest message I could.
Stay away. Don’t bring me tea. Don’t bring me Slinkies. Don’t talk to me. Leave me alone. Once and for all.
If I said it was easy, I would have been a liar, at least for the first few days. Even though I couldn’t see him, I could feel him looking at me. Wanting to talk to me, to reach out and try to grab me one more time.
That wasn’t going to happen again. I was going to go through my life like this now. I was going to somehow finish a degree (once I decided what the hell to study) and then I was going to… do something. Or maybe nothing. There was money. Plenty of it to live on and pay for things I might need. I didn’t want to use it, but it was there anyway.
I could do this. I’d been doing it and it had worked. It had worked just fine until Coen. Until those damn green eyes and that cursed smile with his chipped tooth. Perfectly imperfect Coen LaCour.
The first week was the worst. I found myself with endless hours of time that I had to fill with something. I ended up reading a lot. Books I hadn’t touched in years. I got ahead on all my homework and my grades started getting even higher. The nightmares came back and I went back to not sleeping too often, but it was a small price to pay. I’d gone through it all before Coen and I’d do it now. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
I was well on my way to being back to who I’d been when I first moved in. I’d moved all of my things (what few things I brought with me) myself. No one helped me.
I tried as hard as I could not to picture how it could have been. Mom, fussing and fluttering around like a bird who could never find the right place to land. Dad, calm and steady, giving me an exasperated smile. And Elise, bouncing around and asking all kinds of questions and scoping out the boys for me.
With a groan, I slammed the door shut on that line of thinking. I couldn’t. It hurt too much. It hurt in so, so many ways. Because I was here and they weren’t. Because I should have been with them and I wasn’t. Because I was still living and they weren’t.
But here I was, despite wanting to be otherwise more than once. It would have been so easy. Some pills and a full bathtub. There was no one to save me because I was alone. It would have been fitting, to do it in that house where their lives had ended.
I’d thought of it so many times, but I’d never done it. I’d held the pill bottle in my hand so hard that my hand ached and I had to drop it. I wanted to write about it. To spill the words out of my head and onto a page. But that would have given them more shape and power and I couldn’t. I just… I couldn’t.
So instead I wrote poems about other things. Happy things. And then I burned them and watched the ashes flutter like wings.
I thought about burning the house. That place where everything had ended and where this new life for me had begun, but I couldn’t do it. So instead I got an apartment and left the house as it was. A museum of tragedy. I couldn’t sell it. I couldn’t do anything with it. So I let it stand there. Stand there and gather dust and mold and decay.
Coen didn’t stop texting me, and I allowed myself to read his messages. Guess I had masochistic tendencies. At first they were pleading. Asking if he could come over, if we could talk, telling me he was sorry for what he said and he’d make it up to me if only I would let him.
When those didn’t work, he moved on to just asking me how I was. He knew I was still alive because he saw me in class. Every now and then I’d catch a glimpse of him and he always had my tea waiting for me. I didn’t know what he did with them when I didn’t drink them. I hoped he didn’t throw them away.
The days dragged on and soon we were full in the arms of fall in Maine. Everywhere you walked was covered with leaves that made a susurrus when walked on. I liked the sound, so I spent a lot of time just wandering around campus. I didn’t go back to the nature trails. Too complicated. Every now and then I would see Coen, and I would always turn away. To be fair, it wasn’t like he sought me out. He didn’t wave or call my name or try to get my attention in any way. That was a relief. For a few seconds after I saw him, I would want to yell his name. To run over to him and tell him that I had made a huge mistake and I wanted to be friends with him again. But I knew it wouldn’t work.
To be fair, we’d never really been friends exactly. We’d always been more. From that very first day. We’d tried to deny it, but that only worked for so long. We were all or nothing, the two of us. And right now, I needed us to be nothing.
October break arrived, and since I didn’t want to just go home and sit alone in my apartment, I sat alone in my dorm room and ate my weight in peanut butter and crackers and watched seven seasons of Parks and Rec and seven seasons of Gilmore Girls. I also read five books. I had at least two nightmares every night and went back to just
sleeping for a few hours at a time, with my phone set to wake me up so I didn’t sleep too deeply.
Coen stopped texting me. I was both devastated and relieved by this. Was it possible to feel two such opposite emotions at once? I wanted to write about it, but wouldn’t let myself. That would have been admitting how hurt I was and how much I wanted to go back to the way things had been. I just couldn’t.
It was almost Halloween when Coen spoke to me again. It was accidental. I hadn’t been paying attention and ended up leaving class at the same time he did.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping back to let me go through the door ahead of him.
“It’s okay,” I said, stammering and blushing. He just gave me a sad look. I walked through and turned to say something to him. I just couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“What?” he said, and it was like our roles had reversed. Instead of being the one being chased, I was doing the chasing. I hated the look on his face.
“I’m sorry. But this is the way it has to be,” I said. The words were disgusting in my mouth. I didn’t believe them. He didn’t believe them. But what else was I going to say?
He clenched his jaw and looked away from me. I almost thought he was going to cry. I was a horrible excuse for a human being.
“I don’t understand how you can hurt me this much, Ingrid. You just… I don’t understand it. I don’t understand you.” His eyes met mine and it was like being shot with an ice-cold bullet, right to my heart. I didn’t know I could still feel like this. That my already-dead heart could still beat and function and care about someone else.
“Well, that makes two of us,” I said and I couldn’t stare directly at him anymore. It hurt too much to see him hurting and knowing I had caused it.
“Can we just… talk? Please?” His voice cracked on the ‘please’ and it nearly broke me in half. I closed my eyes and knew I was going to regret saying it, but I did it anyway.
“Yes.”
After weeks of absolutely nothing, I thought maybe Ingrid had forgotten about me. Marty thought there was something seriously wrong with me and tried to get me to go out and find someone new, but I refused. No one would replace Ingrid. It wasn’t possible. There was no one out there like her. Not in this world, not in any other. Even if I looked a thousand years, I wouldn’t find another girl like her. She was it and I didn’t want anyone else, even if I could no longer have her.
I’d thought that after the initial freeze out, she’d relent, but she only strengthened her resolve against me. I kept trying, but even I had to recognize that she wasn’t budging.
I’d gone home for October break and my mom had remarked how pale and out of sorts I’d seemed. She thought it was due to the Maine weather, or being away from everything I’d known. She begged me to come home, but I told her I was going to stick it out. She’d taught me not to give up and I wasn’t throwing in the towel yet. Even if Ingrid wouldn’t talk to me anymore. I was going to tell her anyway. Somehow.
It was complete coincidence that she finally said something to me. I hadn’t even seen her getting to the top of the steps and suddenly there she was.
And then she spoke and I seized my moment. I was still pretty pissed at her for doing what she did with no explanation, but if she’d asked me to lay down in the road and get run over by a fucking bus, I would have done it. It was ridiculous what I would do for this girl.
She was silent as we walked to the coffee shop where we’d talked that first day. Without asking, I went to the counter and ordered her a peppermint tea and got myself a green tea. I didn’t need coffee jitters right now. I had to be as calm and stable as I could.
When I came back with the drinks I realized that she was pale and sleep-deprived again. I wondered if it had anything to do with me and hoped that it didn’t. I never wanted to be the one who caused her to look like that, no matter what she did to me in return.
I handed her the tea without a word and sat down, leaning back in my chair. She folded her hands around the cup, as if she was cold. To be fair, Maine was heading toward winter and she didn’t have any gloves on. I wished I had an extra pair in my bag to give her.
“So,” she finally said, after taking a sip.
“So,” I replied. She took a deep breath and pushed the tea away, looking up at me at last. Beautiful eyes and dark circles. Oh, Ingrid.
“I really am sorry for being such an asshole. I thought about getting you another card, but then I would have had to talk to you and I didn’t want to. It hurt too much.” I gripped the edge of the table so hard that it ground into the bones of my fingers.
“If it hurt so much, then why did you do it?” I knew why she had. Dozens of times I had thought about just showing up at her room and telling her everything. Telling her that I knew all about why she pushed me away. That I knew what had happened. That the details and pictures were burned in my memory and I couldn’t forget them. That I had come here for her.
“Because I thought I had to,” she said. At least that wasn’t another bullshit lie.
“Why,” I said, my voice harsh. Even though I knew it wasn’t fair to be angry with her for not trusting me when I was keeping my own from her. It was totally messed up but, I wanted her to trust me. To tell me.
I shoved that aside and looked at her.
“Because I was scared. Because I am scared. I didn’t want this to happen. I stayed away from people so this didn’t happen, Coen. And then you just pushed and pushed and I couldn’t say no to you. You’re too charming for your own good.” I almost missed the little smile that she gave me.
“I am?” I asked and she rolled her eyes. Finally a moment of non-seriousness. I hadn’t been trying to be charming when I did all those things. I was just trying to get her to talk to me, by any means necessary.
“You know you are. Between the eyes and the hair and the little presents? Are you kidding?” I opened my mouth and then closed it, smiling like crazy. Just one little compliment from her and I was on top of the fucking world. Like she flipped a switch inside me.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I said and she smiled again before biting her lip and taking another sip of tea. We’d spent weeks apart and yet we’d fallen right back into talking to one another. Easy. So easy.
“I know you’re pissed at me and you have every right to be,” she said and the mood shifted again.
“I’m not pissed at you. Okay, maybe a little. I just want you to trust me, and I don’t know how to make that happen. It seems like no matter what I do, nothing is good enough for you, Ingrid.”
She started to say something and then closed her mouth and nodded.
“You’re right. I want to trust you and I want to let you in, but I don’t know how and I’m scared. What if you hurt me?” Her voice got small and I reached across the table for her hand. She didn’t pull back and let me wrap my fingers around hers.
“I wish I could promise that’s not going to happen, but I can’t, Ingrid. I can’t give you that kind of guarantee. All I can promise is to do everything I can to try to not to hurt you.” This was one of those moments when the weight of what I was keeping from her slammed into my shoulders and squeezed my lungs and threatened to kill me.
I was a selfish asshole. Sitting there with her like this and demanding her truth while withholding mine. Selfish, selfish, fucking asshole.
“I guess that’s all I can ask?” she said, but she didn’t seem sure. “I still don’t know if I can go through this with you, Coen, but I think I want to try. These past few weeks have been awful and even if we’re just friends, I want you in my life.” Just friends. We’d never really been just friends, but if that was what made her comfortable, I’d do it. I’d do whatever she wanted me to.
“We can do that. Just friends. I promise. Hands off,” I said, letting go of her hand and putting both of mine in the air.
She laughed a little.
“I’ll believe that when I see it, but sure. Just friends. No touching and no kissi
ng and no… doing things that are non-friend like. We can sit together and hang out, but anything other than that, I think we should draw the line. Okay?” I waited a moment before I agreed because I didn't’ want to seem too eager.
“Done,” I said, holding my hand out. “We have to shake on it. And then after that no touching.” She sighed but shook my hand and then drew hers back.
“We’re both missing class,” she said.
“What a shame. What shall we do with ourselves?” I said.
“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug.
“Do you want to give a walk another go?” I asked. “Maybe not in the woods this time. Just around campus.” It was chilly and it seemed like a good idea to get some color into her pale cheeks.
“Sure,” she said and we set off. There were plenty of other students on their way to and from classes and so forth, but I could only think about her.
“So what’s been going on since we last talked?” I asked, trying to be casual.
“A whole lot of nothing,” she said. “But I think you knew that.”
“I didn’t know for sure, but I don’t know what you do when you’re alone. Maybe you have a secret hobby or something.” She gave me a shocked look and I remembered she did have a secret hobby, but I hadn’t even been talking about her poetry.
“Maybe I do,” she said, recovering smoothly.
“Can I guess what it is?” I asked as we waited in the crosswalk for it to be safe to go.
“I’m not going to tell you if you’re right,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll know if I get it right. You’re not as good at hiding your facial expressions as you think you are.” She looked scandalized and swatted me on the arm.
Bend Me, Break Me Page 14
