Dark Hearts

by Micalea Smeltzer

  After all, don’t they say good things come to those who wait?

  For once in my life I’m going to fucking wait.

  Or try, at least.

  We reach my truck, and I unlock the ancient thing.

  My dad with his fancy foreign sports cars is horrified by my truck, but I don’t give a fuck.

  It’s yet another thing he can add to his endless list of things I’ve screwed up.

  I toss my bag in the space behind the seats and Nova does the same. She buckles her seatbelt and looks steadfastly out the window.

  I start the truck and turn the music off; I don’t have any interest in listening to it right now.

  Sunlight filters between the clouds and I marvel at the mountains in the distance. It doesn’t matter that I’ve lived here my whole life, I’m still filled with awe every time I look at them.

  We reach the apartment, and before Nova can hop out, I lock the doors.

  “That’s childish.” She glares at me.

  The lock on that side is broken, and it won’t unlock until I push the button.

  “Maybe so,” I agree. “But I want to talk.”

  “We could’ve talked on the way here,” she counters.

  “I needed that time to think.”

  She sighs and looks out the window, her vivid blue hair flowing around her shoulders.

  “Jace,” she says softly. “Stop beating this into the ground.”

  I undo my seatbelt and turn in my seat to face her. “I hate fighting with you—I don’t even know if that’s what we’re doing but it feels like it. I don’t want us to continue on with this … this coldness,” I settle on, for lack of a better word. “I miss you.” My voice cracks with the honesty.

  She’s silent, staring at her lap and fiddling with a rip in her jeans. Finally, she says, “I miss you too.” Hope soars in my chest. “But that doesn’t take away the embarrassment I feel about what happened.” And there goes all my hope.

  I reach over, wrapping a piece of her hair around my finger. Her eyes lift to mine, and I see the turmoil there. The embarrassment she speaks of, worry, anger, maybe even regret. But I also see lust and desire, so I know me walking away that morning didn’t ruin everything. This is salvageable. Whatever this is.

  “I’m sorry I’m such an asshole,” I tell her and her lips quirk ever so slightly.

  She shrugs. “You’re not an asshole all the time.”

  I laugh then. I can’t help it. “But most of the time?” I prompt.

  “Eh.” She rocks one hand back and forth in the air. “Maybe only some of the time.”

  “Some,” I repeat. “That’s better than most.”

  The small smile she was sporting disappears, and I know I’m most likely not going to like what she has to say. “We can pretend that our kiss and that morning hasn’t changed anything, but that’s all it would be. Pretending. It did change things between us, and I don’t think we can come back from it.”

  My body tenses. “What are you saying?”

  “I think it’s best if we avoid each other for a little while. I know that’s hard with us living together, but I’m hoping if …” she pauses, her teeth digging into her lower lip. “I’m hoping if I don’t have to see you every day then maybe my feelings will go away.”

  Before I can respond, she leans over my body, her breasts brushing my arm, as she pushes the button that unlocks her door. Her bag is already in her hand and she darts out of the truck.

  I watch her leave and disappear into the apartment building, still stunned by her last words.

  By the fact that she doesn’t want to see me because then maybe her feelings will go away.

  I hope like fuck that’s not true, because I know there’s no way distance is going to erase what I feel.

  Something this all-consuming can’t be so easily forgotten.

  But there’s a nagging voice in my head that says, What if it can?

  Nova

  I go to school.

  I go to work.

  I avoid Jace as much as possible.

  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  It sounds so much easier than it is.

  Avoiding Jace is nearly impossible.

  Not only is he always around, I can’t help but crave being near him.

  He’s my best friend, and I love spending time with him. Be it watching a movie, or making a dinner, or just hanging out. To suddenly not have that time with him sucks.

  I know it’s for the best, though.

  When I arrive home from class, Jace is already gone for work.

  Hallelujah.

  I drop my backpack on the floor and kick off my black Converse. I pad across the room to the kitchen and fix a bowl of cereal.

  Silence echoes around me. It’s been my friend and enemy for the last two weeks since we got back from Florida. My friend, because it means I don’t have to be worried about being swayed by something Jace says. My enemy, because I miss talking to him.

  I know I did this to myself and I’m to blame, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

  I hop up on the stainless-steel counter, letting my legs dangle as I eat my cereal.

  I’ve been living off cereal and Pop-Tarts the last two weeks. Jace normally does all the cooking, and he still does, but since I’ve been avoiding him that means he hasn’t been making enough for me to eat too.

  I think he’s trying to force me out of my dungeon—and by dungeon, I mean my bedroom.

  It’s where I spend the majority of my time.

  Jace is working today, so I know he’ll be gone until the wee hours of the morning.

  It gives me a chance to hang out in the apartment and do my own thing.

  Like dye my hair.

  Normally, I stay with one color for a few months before moving on, but lately I’ve been restless and changing it every few weeks.

  I bought a new color while I was at the drug store today.

  Green.

  I’m not sure how I’ll like it, but the blue needs to go.

  Every time I look in the mirror all I can hear is Jace telling me how much he loves it. It’s driving me insane.

  I finish my cereal and wash the bowl and spoon, leaving them on the towel on the counter to drip dry, then I pick my shoes and backpack up and carry them to my room.

  Unzipping my backpack, I pull out the hair dye.

  I figure there’s no time like the present.

  I head into the bathroom and begin the tedious process of changing my hair color. I would be better off going to a professional and getting it done, but part of the original rebellion the first time I did it was doing it myself, so I’ve kept up the tradition since then.

  Hours later, I stare at my reflection and my green hair. It’s a darker green, not a minty one, and I love it.

  It’s getting late, after ten, and I’m tired from classes and work. I had late classes today so I picked up an early shift, and now I’m regretting that, because I’m too exhausted to enjoy my evening to myself.

  If you weren’t ignoring Jace then you wouldn’t be too tired to go to the bar and hang out with him.

  I wince at my own thoughts because they’re true.

  I walk into my room and collapse onto my bed. “God, I’m pathetic,” I mumble out loud.

  I grab my notebook and pencil, figuring writing a letter to Owen will keep me sane.

  Owen.

  My dirty secret.

  One I’ll never share with anyone.

  I push away my pain at that thought and begin to write.

  Dear Owen,

  I used to think I wasn’t the screw up my parents made me out to be.

  I get good grades.

  I care about people.

  I’m kind.

  I work hard and I love fiercely.

  But I’m discovering that they were right. I am a screw up. I continuously do things I shouldn’t.

  I shouldn’t like Jace the way I do, but I also shouldn’t have pushed him away, because now I’m miserable.
/>   And when I’m sad I think of you even more.

  Don’t get me wrong, I think of you all the time, you’re always in my heart, but it’s different when I’m sad.

  Sadness makes me think of the what ifs.

  And life can’t be spent dwelling on the what ifs. What ifs exist to haunt us—to tease us with possibilities of things we can never confirm.

  I’m rambling now.

  But this is my truth; I miss you, and I love you, and I think of you every day. I always will, until my very last breath.

  Love,

  Nova

  I tear the piece of paper out of the notebook and fold it, laying it in the drawer with countless others.

  Letters I have to write to cleanse my soul, but I’ll never actually send.

  I burrow beneath my bed covers and turn on the TV. I think some mindless reality TV is exactly what I need.

  I eventually drift off to sleep and I’m awakened sometime later by the sound of voices. At first, I think it’s the TV, but when I flick it off, I still hear the voices.

  I quickly pick out Jace’s voice, but there’s another, and it’s distinctly female.

  My body tenses, and I freeze in place, all my sense on high alert.

  I hear the girl giggle and he says something low.

  I feel like my heart is about to fall out of my chest.

  Betrayal coats my tongue like a sticky syrup. I have no right to feel that way, I know. Jace and I aren’t together, and I’ve spent two weeks barely speaking to him, but he knows how I feel and that’s what hurts the most.

  How dare he know how I feel and bring a girl back here. I’ve lived with him since May, and not once, in all that time, has he brought a woman here. I figured he was going to their places. After all, his room is open to the whole apartment.

  I close my eyes and count to ten.

  Their voices are still there.

  I can’t stand it so I put the TV on and turn the volume up louder. No way in hell am I going to listen to the guy I like have sex with another girl.

  I roll onto my side and squish my eyes closed, but I know sleep is never going to come now.

  Not when I have a visual in my head playing out what I imagine is happening just outside my door.

  It’s going to be a long night.

  ***

  I peel my eyes open and find sunlight filtering into my room.

  It’s Saturday, which means no classes but I have to go into work at one.

  At least I have most of the day to myself.

  I sit up and last night’s events come rearing to the surface of my mind.

  I exhale a shaky breath, wishing the hurt I feel would leave as easily as the air in my lungs.

  I tumble from my bed and putter around my room, busying myself as I avoid the inevitable.

  I make my bed, I straighten the items on my desk, I rearrange my stack of school books.

  When there’s nothing left to do, I open my door into the apartment.

  Jace is leaning against the counter, looking like a freaking Greek statue—ridiculously handsome and carved to perfection—a coffee cup dangles loosely from his fingertips and he wears a beanie. He looks adorably sleepy and put together all at the same time and I hate the fact that beneath my irritation I still feel attracted to him. My eyes roam over his bare chest—I can’t fucking help it—drifting lower to where his sweatpants sit dangerously low, exposing the V of muscle that disappears into his pants.

  “Where’s the girl?” I ask, looking around.

  He shrugs.

  I roll my eyes and head into the bathroom when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to answer. I can’t blame him since I’m the one that’s been giving him the silent treatment.

  I use the bathroom and brush my teeth. When I come out, Jace is cooking breakfast.

  I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a seat on one of the stools.

  “I hope you had a nice night,” I find myself saying. I don’t know why I can’t seem to shut up. I haven’t really spoken to him in the last two weeks, just a muttered, “Hey” here and there.

  Jace turns away from the stove and pads over to me, leaning across the stainless-steel counter. He’s large and commanding, and I feel like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room.

  “Two weeks,” he begins. “Two weeks of nothing from you and then you think I fucked a girl and suddenly you’ll speak to me again.” He smirks that stupid fucking smirk that I hate to love. The one that quirks up on one corner and makes his green eyes shine. He bends down so he’s closer to my height. “Confession …” he pauses, licking his lips and he seems to be thinking over what he wants to say. “She didn’t taste as good as you.”

  I feel a nail pierce my heart, hammered in by his words.

  He winces. “Fuck,” he breathes. “That didn’t feel as good as I thought it would.”

  “What?” I snap, standing. “Hurting me hurts you? Newsflash, that’s what happens when you care about someone.” I storm around the counter toward him and he swivels to face me, towering above me. I can feel tears flooding my eyes and I dam them back. I’ve cried enough over him. We’re not together, we never were, so it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

  “This is making me fucking crazy,” he snaps suddenly, startling me. He rips off his beanie and tosses it away. “I don’t know why I said that to you. It was a lie. I didn’t go down on her and I didn’t fuck her. I brought a girl back here to make you jealous. I wanted you to hear her, that’s it. Nothing else happened.”

  My lower lip trembles. “I don’t believe you.”

  He steps closer to me, lowering his head. “Yes, you do.”

  “Don’t do that,” I snap.

  “Do what?” he asks with a knowing smile.

  “Look at me with those ‘I’m so cute you have to believe me’ eyes. It confuses me.” I move a step back, trying to create enough space that I can think straight.

  He moves another step forward, eating up the space I created only a moment before. There is no escaping him.

  “The last two weeks have been hell,” he says. “I don’t like not talking to you. I don’t like not being with you. I’ve barely even seen you.” His hand finds my waist and my lips part with a breath at the touch. His lips find my neck. “I want you,” he whispers.

  My resolve is crumbling.

  “You left,” I protest weakly.

  “I know,” he murmurs. “Never again. Let me make it up to you. Let me make it right.”

  I feel like I’m at war with my own mind and body.

  I want him, but the desire to protect my heart is strong.

  But my heart is already hurting so is giving him a chance really such a bad thing?

  “What does this mean?” I ask him. “What are we?” I don’t mean to put a label on it, but I need to know if this is just sex or something more.

  “I don’t know,” he confesses. “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before. I don’t know if I can do that. But I do know that I’m tired of trying to fight this. I’m tired of denying that I feel more for you than just friendship. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you.”

  I swallow thickly. Fear chokes me.

  “Give me a chance,” he pleads. “I know I screw up at every turn, but I also know that I care about you and you care about me, and that means something, right?”

  I stare into his eyes, and there’s no denying the complete honesty in his words. He’s breaking down every wall I’ve built around my heart—not just in the last two weeks, but in the last two years as well.

  When you’ve loved someone and it’s ended in devastation, it makes you weary and less willing to take risks with your heart.

  But some things are unavoidable.

  Jace is like a car speeding down the road headed straight for me and I can’t move out of the way fast enough. I don’t know if I want to move. Maybe I just want to end it all—or maybe it’s not the end, and the beginning instead.

  “I don’t k
now if I want to be your girlfriend,” I tell him, because I feel like he needs to know that. “But if we do this we have to be exclusive.”

  He cups my cheeks in both hands, smoothing his thumbs over my freckles. “I’m yours,” he whispers, his eyes flaring, and I believe him.

  Before I can blink, his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me like his life depends on it.

  I don’t know how we went from the silent treatment to this, but I don’t care to stop and figure it out.

  He groans, and I revel in that sound, that I make him lose his mind the way he’s been making me lose mine for months.

  He picks me up easily and my legs wind around his waist. A moment later my butt rests on the counter and he stands in-between my legs.

  He kisses me like his life depends on it.

  Fire builds inside me, and he matches it in intensity. His fingers glide down my waist, over my butt, and down to my thighs. I shiver as he moves back up, his fingers sliding beneath my shirt, teasing at the skin of my stomach. My breaths are rapid as he moves his lips down my neck and over the curves of my breasts peeking beneath my sleep shirt. His eyes flick up to mine, and I wonder if he can feel how fast my heart is beating.

  An ache builds inside me, only one he can sate.

  If I’m honest with myself, we’ve been tiptoeing around this a lot longer than the last few weeks.

  Our chemistry has been sparking since the first time we met, but I wasn’t interested in sex, and Jace needed a friend more than he needed a bed buddy. So, we found a happy medium. But our spark never dulled, and instead, as our friendship grew, so did it.

  “I can’t decide if I want to take my time with you or fuck you senseless,” he murmurs, lips against my throat.

  “Both,” I plead, and I’m surprised by how broken and wanton I sound.

  “I fucking love the sound of that.” His hand is on my throat and he tilts my head back. I gladly let him.

  As I lean back, he glides his hand from the space between my breasts down to my shorts. My breaths come in quick, short pants. I can’t even be embarrassed.

  He leans over my body, and I feel swallowed whole. I’ve never paid attention to the size difference before, but Jace is tall—over six foot—and I’m barely five-two. I feel tiny with him hovering over me. But I don’t dislike the feeling like I thought I would.