by Sydney Lane
My heart is with the girl I love, and I intend for her to keep it.
She has one week, and then, I'm going after her.
Ready or not.
Chapter 48
Eliza
Even good people screw up at least once in their lifetime. That's what they say anyway.
Still doesn't make you feel better when you're left hurt and angry with only yourself to blame. It feels so much better when you at least have someone else to pin it on.
But this was all my doing.
Talking to Jared felt good. I won't pretend that I was doing him any favors. Selfishly, it was all about me, not so much about facing the past as it was closing a door on it. Closing the door and walking away.
That was me trying to move forward.
A part of me misses Declan in ways I don't even understand. For all this time, I've been so wrapped up in myself that I didn't really know what it felt like to care about someone else. I think of my sisters, Mom, and Dad, and I feel guilty all over again.
The thing about becoming a self-absorbed bitch is that there's no room to worry about anyone or anything else. Your life becomes consumed with you, you, you.
What can I do to forget? What will make me feel better?
I'm still searching for those answers. Back in the place where I left them.
"Let me see your changeup." I take a deep breath and blow my hair off my face without ever taking my eyes off the batter. Instead of snapping my wrist, I follow through, letting the ball roll off my fingers. The batter swings too early, just like I expected. "Again, Liza! That was shit, and you know it!"
Coach Senton is evil. And I'm grateful for every minute of it. Every. Single. Minute.
I fight the smile that tugs at my lips, catching the ball returned to me by the catcher. That pitch was perfect, and she knows it.
Again, I pound the ball in my hand, lining my fingers up with the seam. I wind up and release. The batter is expecting the pitch I was instructed to give. Instead, I release the ball, snapping it off my fingertips.
Whoosh! Str-iiiiike!
I stand still, playing the game in my head. Looking up at the empty bleachers, I imagine them filled with people, cheering and clapping for me. I inhale the scent of freshly mown grass and dust, imagining the lights shining on the field at night.
Memories.
As much as softball heals me, it wounds me. No matter how much I will it, it can't fill the hole in my heart. It can't erase the last year of my life, and it can't make me stop missing Declan with every fiber of my being. I thought I was empty before, but I didn't really know emptiness until now.
"Stop showing off!" Coach yells, her face red from the sun. She really should wear sunscreen. "I ask for a changeup, I better get a changeup."
This time, I do smile. I just struck out the sixth batter in a row.
The catcher returns the ball to me again, and the next batter wearily walks up to plate. This one's gonna be easy. I can already see the defeat in her eyes.
"Beth, look at me," I instruct. "Watch my fingers." I roll the ball, tightening my grip. My fingers spread wide on each side of the seam. "You see that? How the ball sits in my grip?" When she nods, I continue. "Like this, I can't curve it. I can't snap my wrist. All I can do is put a little spin on it. Ready?" The poor girl looks stunned before nodding again. This is the first time I've spoken to one of my teammates, but somebody has to get a hit or Coach is gonna keep us here all night. We've already been at this for hours, and it's getting dark. At this point, I feel like I'm just another piece of equipment.
This is what I signed up for. The pitcher, Kim, gets to rest her arm while I practice with the team. I'm paying my penance.
I wind up, releasing the ball as discussed. Str-iiiike!
"Beth. Don't look at the ball. With the spin, it's distracting you. Eyes on me." Again, I line my fingers up, preparing my body. "Watch my legs, the subtle twist of my hips, how they're in line with my shoulders. Get ready." I lift my leg, wind up, and release.
Striiiike!
"Come on, Beth! You almost had it." This time, with no warning, I windup and throw.
Crack!
The ball sails into the air. The first baseman catches it and tags her out, but she's all smiles as she runs toward the dugout.
"Liza!" Coach stomps toward me on the pitcher's mound. From the looks of it, she's mad as a hornet or the sun's getting to her. Her voice is surprisingly controlled, low and clear. "Keep doing that. Explain each pitch to them so they can anticipate it. Make sure they can read your body language. That's the key. Show us your secrets."
Wow. I think that was a compliment? Sort of?
A few girls get hits before Coach calls it a night. She draws us into a circle, giving feedback. "Liza's going to continue to practice hitting with you guys. Listen to her. As for the rest of you..."
I'm distracted when I see movement under the trees in the distance, like someone standing in the shadows. From here, I can't be certain if there's actually someone there or if my imagination is going wild. I turn back to Coach, her stern voice commanding my attention. When I look back, the only thing I see are fireflies, like hope, flickering in the darkness.
A subtle reminder of the innocence of childhood, a time when all was right in my world.
I've heard it said before that you have to love yourself before you can truly love someone else. Well, I hate myself.
I think that says it all.
Chapter 49
Declan
It breaks my heart to watch her struggle.
So many times, I've picked up my phone, finger ready to push 'send', and quickly erased the message, shoving my phone into my pocket. I can't tell you how many times I've stared at my phone, waiting for a message, a call, anything from Liza. But there's nothing. I didn't realize how many useless texts I got until I was waiting for the only one that mattered.
Seth wants to know if I want to go to the club tonight. My brother needs to know the date of Mom and Dad's anniversary party. Seth wants to grab a drink and shoot pool. Drew and Eric ask if I want to go to a concert. Seth needs a sober ride.
But nothing- not a single word- from the girl who stole my heart.
Corrine tells me she rarely sees her, that Liza leaves early every morning and doesn't come home until late at night.
Jenna says she hasn't returned her calls or texts.
I haven't seen her at the track.
No one can tell me anything to make me feel better.
I told myself I'd give her a week, but a week without the girl I love is beginning to feel like a lifetime... a very long and lonely lifetime.
I haven't even had the chance to tell her how I feel, that I'll love her no matter what, yet I feel like I've already lost her. I can't soothe the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, like if I don't see her soon, I'll lose my chance.
Last night, when my phone vibrated with a new text, my heart stuttered in my chest. I hastily grabbed my phone and keyed in my password, only to be disappointed when I saw Seth's name.
Seth: Softball field. Tomorrow. 6pm.
Let's just say that message changed everything.
I couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate in class, my nerves buzzing with anticipation. There's nothing that could've kept me away from the field tonight.
More than anything, I wanted to see Liza doing the one thing that makes her smile, even if only to convince myself she's okay. The one and only time I'd seen her truly happy was when she was playing ball, but even then, even as her eyes sparkled and a broad smile kissed her lips, there was an unmistakable hint of sadness in her eyes.
How tragic it must be to hate the thing you love.
I was at the field early, watching from my car, as Liza walked onto the field, a glove on her left hand and a ball in her right. It was impossible to see her face, her eyes shielded by her helmet. She casually walked onto the field, the tension radiating from her betraying her calm composure. By the time she reached the pitcher's mound, her jaw set,
her back was straight and her shoulders tense.
I only meant to stay long enough to satisfy the burning need to see her, but once Liza Nichols has a ball in her hand, there's no way you can walk away. There's something sort of magical about the transformation from the vulnerable yet composed girl to the softball star.
With each pitch, she grew more confident, striking out each batter. No one got a hit. It grew dark, the field lights coming on, and yet I couldn't leave. I found myself getting out of my vehicle and using the trees as camouflage, walking closer for a better view. Drawn to her even as she pushes me away.
Then, I heard her voice, instructing her teammate. It's an assertive, confident side of Liza that I've never seen before, and despite the current state of our relationship, I felt my body responding, my erection tightly pressing against the zipper of my shorts. Even now, my body realizes she's mine, even if she doesn't know it yet.
When I knew I couldn't stand another minute, knew that if I stayed another second, I'd do something stupid, I turned and walked away. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done.
Sitting here in my car, I take a minute to compose myself, breathing deeply and reminding myself that this isn't the end. This will not be the last time I see her. In fact, it's only the beginning.
I shouldn't have come. Seeing her reminded me of what I'm missing, of how empty my life has been without her in it. Witnessing her pain, but also her growth, was bittersweet. So proud to see her moving on but deeply saddened that I must let go so she can move forward.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I am trying to rescue her or maybe I do have some kind of complex. But is it so wrong to want to ease the pain of the girl you love? To be willing to give a piece of yourself to make that person whole again?
I promised I'd give her time, and if nothing else, I'm a man of my word. Igave her a week, but I didn’t know how difficult it would be to watch her struggle . My instinct is to rush to her, to try to protect her, but I don't even know what's going on. She wears her pain on her sleeve, but her secrets run deep. How can I fight a battle when I have no idea who the enemy is?
I've witnessed pain in its rawest form only one other time in my life. A night, a memory that haunts me still. In moments of weakness, I relive the moment that changed Quincy's life forever. When she needed me most, I was there, and I lived that pain with her. I was there.
Yet, I lost her anyway.
Liza's words, while gut-wrenching, play over and over in my head, and I wonder if I had it all wrong from the beginning. There's a difference in being the nice guy and being a good man.
"You couldn't save her, and you can't save me!" Sharp. Razor-edged. Cutting.
"You're always trying to rescue somebody! Did you ever think it might be you who needs to be rescued?" Shock. Realization. Truth.
"When everything else fades away, when no one else is here with me, that pain is what reminds me that I'm alive." Real. Raw. Awakening.
While being the nice guy, I was just trying to erase her pain, to sweep it up nice and tidy and put it away on a shelf. Instead, the good man would allow her to embrace her pain, just as I should embrace my own, roll in it, live in it, and move on with strength and acceptance and healing. The good man would let her feel the pain.
It's in feeling pain that we truly learn to move forward. When we learn to use that pain, we learn and grow and succeed. We use the pain of the past to pave the way for a better future. And in that, we learn to let go.
Liza. God, she's teaching me. She's teaching me what it means to be that good man- to be supportive without suffocating, to give her wings without letting go, and to forgive without expectation.
And sitting here, watching her, I know what I have to do.
Something I've known all along.
Chapter 50
Eliza
It's a slow process, this healing thing.
I feel the darkness threatening to engulf me, trying to drown me, but I feel something else, too. Something from inside of me. I feel strong and new. Powerful.
It's only now that I realize how deeply I've been lying to myself. Don't get me wrong- all lies are shitty- but lying to yourself is the worst kind.
Every time I said I wanted to take back my life, that I was finally really living, I was in denial. I tattooed my body with words of survival, all while I was slowly dying inside. What a sham.
Obviously, I haven't moved on, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive myself.
All I know now is that I want to move forward. I want to begin living. And more than anything, I want to be free.
Life is full of beautiful moments, but there are also very real, very ugly moments. The thing is, when you're lost in the dark, it's sometimes hard to tell the difference. Some things are so beautiful they hurt... and some things are so ugly, they're beautiful. Isn't it all in the eye of the beholder anyway?
It's all Declan's fault. I was living in my own tiny bubble, so immersed in my own pain that I was oblivious to anyone or anything around me. Then that stupid boy, with his stupidly sweet mouth, talked his way into my stupid life, embedding himself in every single part of me.
I love him.
That's so hard to say when I'm just learning to love myself.
My shoulder hurts, but it's that good kind of pain. The kind that reminds you that you're doing something you love. Every time I pick up a ball, the darkness dances on the periphery of my fragile new world.
The one thing I'm learning is that if you hate something, only you can change it. Sometimes happiness is about choosing it. Doesn't mean I can erase the past... just that I can close the door on things that cannot be changed.
"What'cha thinkin'?" I startle at Quincy's voice, spoken over my shoulder. Shit.
I'm really not ready for this. Quincy. All wrapped up with a perfect little bow on top. I'd pay money to know what she really thinks of me. Or not.
I ignore her as she walks around and sits next to me. I'm resting on a bench in the courtyard on campus. I ran around campus twice. A few short weeks ago, I would have been running around the track. And now- now, the track feels like a prison. Kind of like I've had a taste of freedom, and there's no going back.
Declan did that. He did it for me.
Finally, Quincy sighs, her shoulders drooping. When she finally speaks, I'm not sure if I'm awake or hallucinating.
"Have you ever wanted to kill yourself, Liza?" I turn to her, in complete disbelief. Shocked. Her eyes are wide and innocent, but her question is surprisingly harsh, her voice clear and sure.
"What? No!" I fire back. I can't believe she just asked me that. I mean, why would she ask me that? I know I'm a hot mess, but do I look that fucking pathetic?
"Why not?" she asks, arching her brow as she waits for my answer. Like she's asking me why I don't like ice cream.
"Why not what?" My pulse spikes, skipping several beats. It's as if something inside of me already knows this conversation is going to be brutal.
"Kill yourself. Commit suicide." Again, with the sweet look. I always kind of thought she was too perfect. I knew something was wrong with her, and now I know- she's crazy as hell. Certifiable.
"Ummm... hello? Because I want to live. I have a life to live." She's pissing me off, the direction of the conversation making me uncomfortable. A thin layer of sweat forms on my brow, and I awkwardly wipe it away with the back of my hand.
"But why? You know, if you're so miserable? Why not just end it all? It would be so easy."
"You're beginning to scare me."
"I'm just asking a simple question, Liza. If things are so bad, why not just get it over with?" She's so smug, so damn perfect. I don't know if I want to laugh or slap her face.
With each question, my pain comes closer and closer to the surface, truths I can no longer ignore. No, I don't want to die. Every night, every single night, when I lie down, I hope the next day is different, and I know, deep inside, that one day, it will be.
"Because I hope it gets better some
day. Easier." My voice is raw, the whispered words torn from me.
"That's just the thing. It can only get better if you let go of your pain. It's your choice."
"That's easy for you to say. You haven't been in my shoes." I want to lash out, to hurt her just like she's doing to me. She has no right. No right!
"I'm going to pretend like you didn't just say that." Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. She takes several deep breaths, visibly pulling herself together. The tears never escape.
"Maybe we need to pretend this whole conversation never happened."
"Just let me finish. Liza, if you have hope, that's half the battle. It means that you know things can get better, even if they haven’t yet. But for things to change, you have to be willing to let go of all that anger and frustration, pain and bitterness. It's your choice." Her voice drops, suddenly not so strong, not so confident. She inhales on a shaky breath, slowly exhaling. Her shoulders slump, as if the conversation is taking a toll on her, too. "If you don't want to die, that means you want to live. What's the point in living if you choose to be miserable? If you want to be happy, you have to go out there and take it. Life doesn't owe you anything- it's its own gift. You are alive, Liza. That's something."
Her words hang in the air, sharp and cold, cutting me like a knife, tearing open old wounds that never really healed, and leaving me raw and ashamed. I've been so selfish. I've been carrying this burden like a cross, like some kind of martyr. I expected everyone to understand me when I never let them know me.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Do you have a sister?"
"Yes. I have two."
"I had a sister." Her voice is suddenly distant, flat. I'm not sure where she's going with this. "You love them? Your sisters?"
"Of course." She's even weirder than I thought.
"What would you do if one of them died? How would you feel?" She asks quietly, her voice raw with emotion. She makes me think things I'd rather never think.
"What does this have to do with anything?" My heart aches, pulsing with pain. That's a place I can't go- to imagine my life without Taylor or Payton.
