Somehow, I summon the courage to ask, “What was he doing?”
“He was, uh, leaving,” Katie says. “I’m not sure if he saw me or not. Or if he knows I saw him.”
Leaving? So what’s the big deal? I was afraid she was going to tell me she saw him kissing someone, or holding someone’s hand. There’s got to me more to it. Uh, oh. What if…?
“Was he alone?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.
“Yeah, he was alone.”
I’m totally confused now. She saw him leaving a girls dorm, by himself. Why are she and Marissa making such an issue of this? It makes no sense.
“I don’t get it,” I say. “What’s the big deal?”
“She saw him leaving at eight o’clock in the morning,” Marissa says.
I look at Marissa for a moment, and then turn my eyes back to Katie.
“I was going over there to do some last minute studying with a friend from high school who’s in my history class,” Katie explains. “Chris was leaving one of the rooms. It was at the far end of the hall, and he turned the other way when he left. That’s why I don’t know if he saw me. But I think he might have.”
I try to process all this, but my brain doesn’t seem to want to work very well at the moment. Leaving a girl’s room at eight in the morning—that doesn’t sound good. No, not good at all. Was that why he was looking at me strangely yesterday? Was it guilt I saw on his face?
Katie is wringing her hands in her lap. She clearly doesn’t want to go on, but she does.
“I asked my friend about the girl who lives there,” she says. For a moment, she is silent, but I know there’s more. “She said the girl is the dorm slut,” she says finally.
My heart drops as the picture completes itself. Oh, Chris, how could you do this to me? I feel Marissa’s arm tighten around my shoulders.
“We wanted to make sure before we told you anything,” Marissa says, “so Katie’s friend talked to the girl who lives in the room next to the one Chris was leaving.” She pauses for a moment. “She said she heard them doing it. She was sure of it.”
The tears explode out of me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I twist around and bury my face against Marissa’s shoulder, sobbing.
Chapter 21
How long I cry I have no idea. It feels like hours. Time doesn’t only stop for kisses, I guess. It stops for heartbreaks, too. Which really sucks.
Finally, I pull my face away from Marissa’s shoulder and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I don’t think there’s a drop of water left inside me. I wonder if it’s possible to cry every bit of moisture out of your body. Maybe that’s why I feel so thirsty all of a sudden.
I’ve left a big wet spot on Marissa’s shirt. I rub it gently with my fingers, as if I can somehow wipe it away.
“Sorry,” I say.
Marissa keeps one arm around my shoulders and places her other hand gently on my forearm. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not okay I want to scream. Not anywhere near okay.
“Not really,” I say. “I feel…empty.”
“Can I get you anything?” Katie asks.
She has a sad, guilty look on her face. I know she didn’t want to tell me about this, but deep inside me I’m glad she did. Before I went and did something really not careful.
“Some water, maybe,” I say.
The look on her face eases. I think she’s glad to be able to do something to help. She gets a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and twists the cap off before handing it to me.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
I take a small sip. It’s hard to swallow, but I force myself to take one more sip before I hand the bottle back to Katie. She puts it down on my desk.
I have no idea what to do now. My brain doesn’t seem capable of finishing a thought, and my body feels almost numb. I know something bad has happened, but it’s almost as if it happened to someone else, someone separate from me. I’ve never felt so helpless, so detached. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. None of my fairy tales ever ended like this. I wouldn’t let them.
Katie is standing in front of me, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, not sure what do to now. Welcome to the club.
But there’s no reason for her to suffer, just because I am. Marissa, either.
“I think I want to be alone for awhile,” I manage to say.
“Are you sure?” Marissa asks.
I nod my head. “Yeah. Please.”
Marissa gives me a tight hug and then gets up from the bed. “We’ll go hang out in Katie’s room. If you need anything, just come get us. Or call, if you don’t feel like leaving the room.”
I nod again.
“I mean it,” Marissa says. “We’re here for you, Heather.”
They head for the door, but Marissa stops by the fridge and grabs an apple from the basket.
“You said you were hungry.”
She tosses the apple toward me. I manage to catch it, more in self-defense than out of any desire to eat.
“Try to eat something, if you can,” Marissa says. “There’s some cheese and yogurt in the fridge.”
I paste a weak smile on my face, so they’ll know it’s okay to leave me alone. It’s not much of a smile, but it’s the best I can do. They look at me for a moment before leaving the room and closing the door softly behind them.
Now what? What do I do, now that I’m alone? Put on some music, maybe? Marissa turned her player off while I was in the shower. I guess she didn’t want the wrong song to pop up while she and Katie were giving me the bad news. What would I want to hear? Certainly not one of my sappy love songs. That would be like twisting the knife in a wound. Maybe some my-heart-is-breaking song, like “Leave the Pieces” by the Wreckers, or something really tragic, like Pearl Jam’s “Last Kiss.” Or maybe one of the saddest songs ever written—“He Stopped Loving Her Today.” They say misery loves company—but I’m not sure I want that kind of company.
I absently take a bite of the apple. I can tell it’s moist and juicy, but I can’t really taste it. I take another bite anyway, just to be doing something. If I had the energy, I’d get up and get some cheese to go with it, but that seems like too much effort for too little payoff. Now if there were some chocolate ice cream in the fridge, that might be a different story.
Finally, I decide to do what I always do when I need to escape. I get my guitar.
For a few minutes, I just sit on my bed with my guitar on my lap. The feel of its familiar weight on my legs is comforting—as comforting as anything can be now that my world has fallen apart. Eventually, I begin to strum the strings, tentatively, not playing anything, just making sounds. What song would I play, anyhow? Almost every song I know is a happy love song. I’ve no use for any of them now, no use at all. I wonder if I ever will again. I may have to learn a whole new set of songs. At least that will keep me busy.
The sounds rising from my guitar are not pleasant; how could they be, the way I’m feeling? For awhile, the chords are sad, plaintive, rising from a deeply wounded place inside me. Why did Chris have to go and break a perfectly good heart? I wish I knew how to write music—I bet I could write a killer broken heart song right now. Slowly, something changes, and the music begins to grow angry. My hand starts to move faster, almost attacking the strings with the pick.
I need to calm down. If I keep playing like this, I’ll bust a string. But do I really care? What’s a broken string compared to a broken heart? Broken stings can be replaced; I don’t know about a broken heart.
But there’s a part of me deep inside that loves this guitar and won’t let me hurt it, no matter how bad I feel. Almost of its own volition, my hand begins to slow and the music grows softer. Before I realize it, I’m playing “Teardrops on My Guitar.” How fitting, I think, as a tear runs down my cheek and lands on the face of my guitar.
I play the song over and over, not singing—I couldn’t even
think of singing right now—just playing the sad music, until my fingers begin to grow cramped and sore and I can’t play another note.
I put my guitar down beside me on the bed. Now what? I look around the room—it seems awfully small all of a sudden. I grab my partly eaten apple. The edges around where I’ve bitten have turned brown, but I take a bite anyway, just for something to do. It’s just as juicy as it was before. And just as tasteless. I don’t care. I eat the whole thing and then toss the core toward the wastebasket by my desk. It misses, but who cares? Not me. I leave it lying on the floor.
The room seems even smaller now, like the walls are slowly closing in on me. I need to get out of here, but where would I go? Marissa and Katie are down in Katie’s room. I could join them there, but that doesn’t seem any better. Worse in some ways, because they’d want me to talk, and I don’t know if I want to talk right now. No, sitting around with them and not talking would feel even worse, I’m pretty sure.
But I need to do something. Maybe a walk will help. At least I’d be out of here, and I’d be moving. That’s something. And something is better than nothing, right? I’ll see if Marissa and Katie want to go. If we’re walking, I won’t have to talk if I don’t feel like it.
I head down the hall. Katie’s door is open, so I walk in.
They’re sitting next to each other on Katie’s bed, looking at something on her laptop. Pink is singing. I recognize her voice, but I don’t know the name of the song. They look up at my arrival, and Marissa jumps up off the bed and gives me a quick hug.
“How are you doing?” she asks.
I shrug. “I’m going to take a walk. You guys wanna come?”
“You bet,” Marissa says. She looks at Katie.
“Yeah, I’ll come,” Katie says.
“Let’s go then,” I say.
Katie looks at me quizzically. “Like that?” she asks.
I follow her gaze down to my feet. I’m not wearing shoes or socks. I can’t believe I hadn’t even noticed.
“Oops,” I say. “I guess I forgot something.”
“Let’s go back to our room,” Marissa says. “Put on some walking stuff.”
“I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Katie says. “I need to change, too.”
Back in our room, I swap my sweatpants for a pair of black cotton sports shorts. It’s a bit too cool out for just my T-shirt, so I put my lightest hoodie on over it, a tan one I can unzip if I get too warm.
I’m tying the laces on my Nikes when my phone buzzes. I reach for it automatically, but stop myself as soon as my hand closes around it. My heart starts beating faster. The odds are it’s a text from Chris. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see it right now.
Marissa is watching me. I’m sure she’s guessed it’s from Chris, too.
“You gonna look?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t want to.” I look down at the phone in my hand, then back to Marissa. “Do you think I should?”
“Aren’t you two supposed to go out tonight?”
I feel my face tighten into a grimace. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen now.”
“If he doesn’t hear back from you, he’s liable to just show up. Do you want that?”
Good question. My first thought is of course not, but then I think about having the chance to throw something at him and then slam the door in his face. There might be some mild satisfaction in that, but I think over all I’d rather never see his lying, cheating face again.
I flip open my cell. It’s a text from Chris, all right, about our date tonight. My fingers type in a short message, and then I shut off the phone.
“That was quick,” Marissa says. “What did you say?”
I told him, “Drop dead, asshole,” I say angrily.
Marissa grins and embraces me. “Good girl,” she says.
Chapter 22
Marissa, Katie and I walk to the park. It’s a beautiful day—sunny, temperature in the mid-fifties, barely a hint of a breeze. Puffy white clouds float lazily in a bright blue sky. Some of the leaves are beginning to turn, adding splashes of bright red and gold to the greenery. It’s truly a magnificent vista.
But it’s all lost on me. Any other day, I would have stopped for a few moments to drink in the beauty. But not today. Today I just want to keep moving. I have to keep moving.
We’ve been walking pretty fast. Neither Marissa nor Katie has said anything to me—they’re waiting for me to speak first. I know when I’m ready to talk, they’ll listen. Until then, they’re leaving me alone. The silence is surely uncomfortable for them, but they don’t seem to mind. I’m lucky to have such good friends.
We’re halfway up the hill on the Lake Trail when I finally break my silence.
“Do you think it was my fault?” I ask softly.
Marissa stops. “What?” she asks.
“I said, do you think it’s my fault?”
“Are you kidding?” Her voice is edged with anger. “No way was any of this your fault.”
Deep in my heart, I know she’s right, but I can’t quite convince my brain of that. “Maybe if I hadn’t needed to go so slowly….” I say.
I can see the fury building in Marissa’s eyes. “What, you think if you’d put out a little bit, none of this would have happened?” she says. “You can’t be serious.”
“I know he wanted to do more,” I say, not sure why I’m arguing the point, unless it’s to punish myself a bit more. “Maybe if I wasn’t so friggin’ careful, he wouldn’t have needed to, you know….”
“No, no, and no,” Marissa says.
“It’s not like it’s been a year,” Katie says, “but even that wouldn’t be any excuse for what he did.”
“I’m not saying I should have slept with him. But maybe we could have done more than kiss.”
“For god’s sake, Heather, it’s only been a month.” Marissa’s voice is softer now. “If he can’t wait any longer than that, he doesn’t deserve you. He’s a jerk, pure and simple. He cheated on you. Period. Don’t you think for even a moment that any of this is your fault.” She gives my forearm a firm squeeze. “If I hear anything more like that out of you, I’m gonna pound you. You got that?”
I can’t help smiling. Amazingly, it feels good. “Yeah, I got it. Loud and clear.”
We resume our walk. I still feel like crap, but at least a little less crappy than before.
By the time we get back to the dorm, I’m feeling mildly better. Not good by any means, not by a long shot. But a little better, and that’s something.
Unfortunately, as soon as the elevator door slides open, all the good the hike did me is instantly undone.
Sitting on the floor next to my door is the last person I want to see. Chris. He’s wearing that stupid beret. He scrambles to his feet as soon as he sees us. Damn, he still looks cute. I hate myself for thinking that.
For a moment, nobody speaks.
“What are you doing here?” I say finally, putting as much venom into my voice as I can. “Didn’t you get my text?”
He glances briefly at Katie. It’s clear he knows she saw him and that she told me about it.
“Yeah, I got it.” He takes his hat off and fumbles with it in front of his waist. As much as I can, I’m enjoying his discomfort. “I need to talk to you, Heather.”
Marissa and Katie are watching me.
“What do you want us to do, Heather?” Marissa asks.
What do I want you to do? How about punching his lights out? Or cutting off his balls? Yeah, that might be a good start.
“Please, Heather,” Chris says, “you have to listen to me.”
No, I don’t have to listen to him. What could he possibly say to make this right? But it’s clear he isn’t going to go away. I might as well get this over with.
I look to Marissa and Katie. “It’s okay. I’ll give him five minutes.”
“We’ll be right down the hall, watching,” Marissa says. She fastens her eyes on Chris. “Don’t even t
hink of touching her.”
Marissa and Katie move about halfway down the hallway and stop. Both of them stand there with their arms folded across their chests, watching us. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with Chris, for sure.
“I’m sorry, Heather,” he says. “Really sorry.”
My anger is becoming mixed with sadness. “How could you do that to me, Chris?”
“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head slowly. “It didn’t mean anything, I promise. She doesn’t mean anything. You’re the one I love.”
Tears are welling up in my eyes. I fight to keep them from flowing. “Maybe it didn’t mean anything to you,” I say, “but it means a helluva lot to me.”
“She came on to me,” he says lamely. “Big time. What was I supposed to do?”
What were you supposed to do? I can’t believe he’s asking me that. Guys really do live in a different universe.
“How about just saying ‘No?’” I say, nearly shouting. “N - O. No.”
Chris seems startled by my outburst. What was he expecting? That he would apologize and I’d melt and sweetly forgive him? As if!
“It didn’t mean anything,” he says again. “I swear.”
The sad thing is, I believe him. But so what? That doesn’t change anything. He can’t take it back. Not ever. Some bells just can’t be unrung.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Chris?” I ask. “Did you think that somehow I wouldn’t mind? Did you think I could overlook it?”
He’s clearly flustered now. “I didn’t…I mean, I wasn’t…. Thinking, that is.”
“Well, you should have thought,” I say bitingly. “You should have thought real hard. And then you should have thought again… and again. That’s what you should have done.” I wipe my eyes with my hand. I’ve got my tears under control. “You just shouldn’t have done it, Chris. That’s all there is to it. You shouldn’t have done it.”
I can see tears filling the edges of his eyes. He looks like a little boy who just lost his dog. But tough luck—he dug this hole himself. I’m certainly not pulling him out. Not even a little.
Mine: A Love Story Page 12
