Hollow Sight

by Kristie Pierce

  “So there’s no hope then. We won’t ever be together.” I’m not asking. It’s a statement I know to be true.

  “I don’t see where we can be. Not when I’m still hanging on to her – unable to let go and forget. Every time I’m with you, I’ll only be thinking of her.”

  At least he’s being honest. Maybe I should commend him for that. So honest that it’s setting my chest ablaze. Such a different fire than I’d felt when Liam once had sent heat surging through my veins with his touch. This actually hurts.

  “I thought love was always something to fight for.” I say, echoing his words from just a few short nights ago.

  “Breckin, it’s not your battle. It’s mine.”

  “I see.” My voice cracks.

  “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “It’s raining,” I object.

  “I know.”

  “Why bother?”

  He ignores me. Liam wraps his arm around my shoulders but it isn’t a touch that I’m used to. It’s formal, impersonal. As we walk silently to my Bronco, I find myself clutching my fingers around his shirt in a last ditch effort to be near him. I desperately pull myself as close as I can to him, knowing that this is my last seconds to touch him ever again. I suddenly and urgently need to be surrounded by him, all of him. I need to feel his warmth and smell the fresh spring-like scent from his skin. I need to feel some kind of physical reaction from him, too. To have him push me away or constrict me with his strong hands. To justify and express his hatred; maybe it’ll make it easier for me to accept. I’ve turned my body towards him and have leaned in close to feel the heat of his body on my flesh. I trail my nose along his neck and place my hand over his heart.

  He doesn't fight me, surprisingly, and when we reach Miss Rusty, he opens the driver’s side door for me. I look up to him through the rain to take in his perfect features. This is my last moment with him and I have to tell him how I really feel even though that's what I've been trying so hard to do all along. But this is a last ditch effort. I don't care if means that I’m pathetic and desperate. It will look like begging, but I have to do it.

  “Liam, I -”

  “Shhh,” he soothes while placing a finger over my lip again. There’s a small hint of the Liam I know trying to surface. “You’ll only make it worse.”

  I shake it off. “No. I need to say this.” I suck in a deep breath, push back the overflow of tears, and swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Liam, I never thought that I’d ever be able to experience the love that I’ve had with you. I’d often heard about how intense love could be, but never thought that it really existed. I actually thought that maybe I was broken because I hadn't ever felt that way. I want you to know that you not only taught me how to love, you taught me that it’s really out there. I only thought it existed in fairy tales. And there’s no one I’d rather share that love with, than with you. I admit that it surprised me – how fast our feelings for one another came about, but I’m not at all sorry for it. I’m not sorry that I broke someone else’s heart to be with you. I'd break a thousand hearts if it meant that you could love me again. And I’m not sorry that we fell in love – or that I fell in love – a deep love, so fast and so intensely. I've never understood how it could happen like that, but what I don’t understand now is how you can just throw it away. How you can just suddenly decide that it’s not real?

  “I’ll stay away from you if that is what you truly want. I won’t talk to you, I won’t look in your direction, and I won’t try to be your friend. But know that I’ll still be hanging on. Even if you want to let go, I’ll be fighting for us. Because I think we belong together. No, I know we belong together. Kinda like fate, as corny as that sounds. I knew from that first moment with my crappy locker that you were meant to be in my life, and I in yours. So just because you don’t think you can do this... well know that I do. I believe in you and I believe in us. I love you, Liam, and that’s not ever going to change.”

  Liam’s face contorts to pain as I finish and for a split second I think that maybe I have him. His eyes have changed back to the beautiful color I recognize as he holds my gaze with narrow and tight eyes. I reach up to stroke his cheek, but he catches my hand before I can make contact and turns his head away. He quickly kisses my palm as if not realizing he’s done it and then lets my hand drop. He wordlessly gestures for me to crawl up into my heap and so I do.

  Liam closes the door with a deafening finality. I press my hand against the window still hoping that he’ll react in some way, showing me now that he’s capable of not giving up. But he only looks at me with blank eyes and expressionless features.

  I back out of the drive feeling the weight of Liam’s stare on me. I grind the gears to my Bronco as my eyes fill with more salty tears obstructing my vision. I don’t allow the full force of my tears have their way though, until I catch the image of Liam in my rearview mirror, standing in the road watching me drive away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The bell rings, excusing seventh period Art and I walk over to the in-class sink to wash the pastel-colored chalk from my hands. There’s no rush for me to get to practice now; swimming season is over. As I let the ice-cold water run over my hands, I notice the color of the water stream from the faucet has changed from clear to dark as it meticulously runs over my skin. Blues, grays, purples, and black wash away from my wrists to my fingertips. The color is depressing, dark and cold like the water I examine as it swirls into the bottom of the metal sink. After watching the murky water disappear down the drain, I can’t recall what it was that I’d been drawing with the dark pastels. Nothing too pretty I note, with colors like this. Maybe it was what’s left of my broken soul.

  I’m the last to leave the class – as I usually am now-a-days. I’m never in a hurry to be anywhere.

  I normally move slowly so I won’t run into him. This way, I won’t be forced to see his perfect face, hear his gloriously accented, sultry voice, suck in his sweet scent…

  One day I came too close and got a whiff of his deliciously scented skin and it had caused my head to spin. That had been a bad day. I’d managed not to look into his direction for three weeks when suddenly, as I was fighting with my sticky locker, his scent hit me out of nowhere. Sweet and crisp spring-like air swirled around me, filling me with the bittersweet memory of our night at the Schumacher's barn. The memory violently slammed towards the forefront of my mind causing my eyes to sting as I fought back unbidden tears. I thought of our dance to the sound of our beating hearts and the way I’d trailed my nose along the skin of his neck, breathing him in.

  Luckily it was after school had been dismissed for the day, and the halls were almost empty. That way no one could see how unraveled I became in his presence. He must’ve forgotten something in his locker. He’d raced back to it quickly, grabbed something – I didn’t see what as I never look into his direction– and after standing there for what seemed like a burning eternity in hell, he left. When I turned back to fight with my locker door some more, I noticed that it was wide open although I couldn’t recall my fight to get it that way. Tears pricked my eyes as I forced a deep, staggering breath I’d meant to calm me. But all it did was remind me how close I was to falling over the edge as the breath gasped and hitched in my throat.

  I’ve been focusing so much energy on not focusing on him, that when something hits me out of the blue, it completely derails me. Derailment and off course. That’s me. I’ve been forced off track and I don’t know how to get back to where I’m going. Because where I’m going is nowhere near where I feel I could be. Where I know I should be.

  I don’t know where I am. Everything around me is both familiar and alien at the same time. I feel lost. Alone. Although the sensible part of me knows that I am, in fact, not alone. No, I know I’m not. But I rarely think with the logical part of my brain.

  I go about my days as usual. I get up at the same time every day whether it’s a school day or not. I attend school routinely,
never having a tardy or absence and do my homework upon walking through the door back home. Miss Procrastination hasn’t been around since that fateful day months ago. I always make sure to help with dinner. After dishes I take Abigail for a run, rain or shine, but always with my iPod in hand. I don’t like silence. The silence sometimes scares me. But not for the reasons that it used to. I can still hear the voices of people long passed, but they’re just annoying. I’ve been able to block them out with surprising and satisfying ease. When it’s silent, I think. I have no choice but to think. Remember. Dwell. The future I’d imagined for myself has been erased and I can see no promising future left for me, and it terrifies me. The days ahead are all black and empty, meaningless.

  Then the headaches. They’re unexpectedly something I’ve grown used to. They aren't incapacitating – just irritating. Dull and tiring. But not a day passes that I don’t have one now.

  The next day it will be the same routines all over again. Routine is key. If I fall off course on my new found habits and schedule, it takes me awhile to recover. I’m on the verge of becoming OCD. Not only do I have my routine, but everything has its place. I can’t handle change and the prospect of it terrifies me. Change causes incoherent thoughts and images to swirl around in my head in a scattered, matted mess. I’m lucky if I get one day with any thoughts that do make sense. Every picture in my head is usually a fast and blurry picture or lots of jumbled up pieces to a puzzle I don’t have the box lid to so that I can follow along. Fast flashes or dark blurs with every blink of my eye. Every time a thought manifests inside my chaotic head, another will quickly and violently overtake and push it aside before I can make any sense of it. That sometimes causes the headaches to be worse.

  I struggle not to let anyone see my misery. I think that I’m doing a pretty good job of it. I speak when spoken to, smile at the appropriate times in a conversation, show large amounts of enthusiasm when called for. I even try sticking to my own personal reflection from earlier in the year and be more outgoing. I attend every home game for the basketball team with Claire and even supported Morgan in her erratic decision to join the cheerleading squad after swimming ended. She made the varsity team and I cheer along wholeheartedly whenever she starts the crowd rooting. Of course this means that Morgan is now thought to be in the same class as Amber, but I strive not to let that bother me. I realize I don’t much care either way. I’m getting exceptionally good at ignoring her.

  Sera’s always there, but she doesn’t have any inspiring words. I constantly feel the warmth I've come to expect when she’s around, but I don't find it as comforting as I once had. At first, she had continued to remind me that every moment in my life was something I’ve meant to learn or experience, promising that it will all get better with time and patience, this will only make me stronger, I’m young, and this, too, shall pass. It became really annoying. I’d said some not-so-very-nice things to her one day, when it all had simply gotten to be too much.

  “Why aren’t you helping me!?” I had exploded on her.

  “I’m trying to, Breckin.”

  “You didn’t even warn me! Why did you steer me toward him? Why! You must’ve known this would happen, yet you let me fall in love with him anyway! How could you?”

  “Breckin, I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I couldn’t’ve known. You know I don’t have any idea what your future holds any better than you do.”

  “I don’t believe you! What good are you, anyway? You’re completely useless!”

  Sera looked into my eyes very calmly then – calmer than I’d ever seen her before – and it was in moments like that, that I wished I could touch her. I wanted to throw my arms around her and sob. Sob until I wouldn’t be able to feel my legs, my arms, myself. I know she can’t see my future. But nothing made sense to me anymore and somehow screaming at her about it had made me feel better. I regretted it instantly and she forgave me before I’d even mustered up an apology. But she stayed quiet about the subject after that.

  Swimming is over, but at least that ended on a high note. After I’d been allowed back in the pool, I picked up right where I’d left off – to my astonishment. I’d done well the remainder of the season; a result of consuming myself with long practices and complete focus. Our team had won the District Championship and then went on to Regional’s, which were hosted by Michigan State University. MSU just so happens to be one of my choice colleges to attend, so I was glad for the trip. We competed and placed well that weekend. We didn’t win like we’d hoped, but we placed third over thirty other teams. Coach Dawson was happy that day.

  The team had to stay one night and we were allowed to explore the campus. It was beautiful that day with late falls colors and buzzing student life. Instead of enjoying it, I wandered around, all alone, thinking of all the ways my life had gone wrong and how off pace I felt. I felt the dull ache in my hand to hold his, thinking that he should’ve been there enjoying the experience with me. I walked past couple after couple, hopelessly watching them together thinking they didn’t look as happy as I once had been. I sat down on a wooden bench along a beautiful stone path and begged the universe to take away my memories. The late-autumn air was crisp and warm around me, but it did nothing to heat my chilled skin. The wind blowing my hair in soft wisps against my shoulders and face blurred my vision as I stared out into nothing, but it didn’t matter because my sight had been clouded over for months. My burning heart beat painfully and hotly against my ribs as I closed my eyes and pictured myself curled into his chest. This is exactly why I should never be left alone.

  I remember the trip for another reason entirely, though. He was there.

  He sat in the bleachers with the other students who had made the two hour trip in an effort to support the team. But I’d guessed he was really there because the entire Dawson family was in attendance, and for the year he’s an adopted Dawson child.

  When I’d placed third in my last race and looked up to the stands out of habit, I saw him sitting with his friends. My stomach flopped when it was obvious that he paid me no attention. He instead, sat relaxed, laughing, and smiling with his buddies, completely oblivious to my presence and the otherwise cheering crowd from school. Mingling lightly and happily goofing around. It was painfully obvious that I no longer mattered to him – it was as if I had never even existed. My charcoaled heart fell to the pool splattered floor that day.

  Despite my daily routine, and my strived attempts to avoid silence, I have an abundant amount of time on my hands. Unfortunately that’s time usually spent lost in thought when I’m trying to focus on other things. All my carefully placed focus shatters when I’m alone.

  We were two people that seemed to fit together so perfectly – as if made for each other. It was effortless and it made sense. After not knowing what I wanted or needed for so long, he came and filled the void. A void I had no idea existed until he was there. Then it was all lost in one day. A day that I’ve replayed in my mind over and over and over and over and over again compulsively. Thinking every side, every word spoken, wondering what could have gone differently, what I should have done or said differently. Then the way he’d completely shut down, turning into someone I didn’t know at all. He was a complete stranger the day I’d tried to confront him.

  I do find it ironic that this is the one subject my overloaded head can concentrate on without any kind of erratic tendencies. Everything else bounces around inside my head like a hyped up ping pong ball, but no, not this. The two memories of our last moments together play out perfectly – as does every other memory of him.

  I’d convinced myself that I should’ve just kept my mouth shut when Evie had spoken to me. Perhaps he would still be with me. Sera disagreed. She said that I’d been right in telling him that Evie was there and telling him what she’d said – that he should know that she came to see him. It may cause him pain now, but he’ll look back on it later in life and be glad that she was still with him. Most people don't ever have the triumph of knowing their loved
ones are still with them, and it was a very nice thing I’d done for him. I rolled my eyes and tried not to think about how selfish I wanted to be in having him to myself. I don’t want Evie coming around. He can’t forget with her around. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the reason we aren’t together. That takes talent; the deceased girlfriend breaking up her boyfriend and his new, very alive girlfriend.

  I expected the depression – the misery. I knew as I drove away that day as he stood motionless in the rain watching me that it would leave a mark. Scarring. An imperfection that can never be fixed. I wait for the sadness every morning to overtake me before I open my heavy eyes. It hits just as hard as it had the first day I awoke without him in my life. What I didn’t expect, however, is the same agonizing torture I feel each and every time I see him or think of him. That part is physical. And I wasn’t expecting it to intensify with each passing day. I thought it would dissipate. It should dissipate. But it doesn’t. The fault line rumbles, allowing the burn to begin and destroy its way through my heart every time I allow myself a glimpse of him, when I hear him speak, when I suck in the scent of his skin.

  One day I’d happened to brush past him in the busy hallway between classes and his touch still managed to shoot a jolt of lightning coursing through my veins. My skin tingled and for the fraction of a second, I felt warm and whole. The magnets that had been lying dormant for what seemed like a lifetime sprang to action, causing my hands and fingers to violently shake as I clutched the books in my arms to my chest. In that tiny second though, I was able to feel uncharred and unscarred. I wondered if he’d felt the same thing. I noted, too, that in that instant, my headache disappeared.