Clinton still isn’t talking to me, ignoring all my apology texts and voicemails. And, in the strangest turn of events, I haven’t had a boy to occupy my time, other than the now two drunken times I’ve found myself hooking up with Adam. If it wasn’t for him being cool with a no-strings drunk hookup situation, I likely would have gone mad from No D Disease by now.
Sighing, I pull the trigger and sign up for my last class — Writing for Television. And with my course load full, I snap my laptop shut, head collapsing on top of it once it’s closed with my hair splayed all around me. My phone buzzes from the corner of my desk and I reach for it blindly, peeking through my hair at the name on the screen.
And then I sit up straight, eyes widening.
Sliding the message open from the home screen, Clinton’s contact opens, showing me all the unanswered texts I’ve sent since Halloween. But now, right under the last one, is a text from him.
- Can you come over? -
I don’t even bother running a brush through my hair or changing out of the leggings and tank top I have on before I’m running down the stairs and out the door. I’m about halfway down Greek Row when I realize I also didn’t stop to but a bra on, but I don’t turn back, because all that matters in this moment is that Clinton texted me, and he wants to talk to me, and that’s all I care about.
My mind is running wild with all the things I’ll say when I get to his room — how sorry I am, how I never meant to upset him, how I’ll make Clayton do some kind of work for the money if that will help, or let Clinton pay me back if he wants. But I don’t get a chance to say any of it, because when I burst through the Omega Chi Beta doors, the entire house is full of brothers.
And all of them are staring at me.
Josh, Clinton’s Little, steps forward first, eyeing my outfit with appreciation and a wink that makes me roll my eyes before the first word leaves his mouth.
“Skyler, Bear called on all of us to help him, because apparently he’s been a real fucking idiot and not a very good best friend lately,” he starts, and it’s then that I realize every brother in the room is holding a notecard in their hands. “He didn’t want to just apologize, he wanted you to know how special you are to him. So, he wrote down something for every day that you guys haven’t talked.”
He holds up the notecard in his hand with a goofy smile and my hands fly to my mouth, eyes glossing. I am not a cryer, but damnit if the tears don’t gather, anyway.
“You are, by far, the best poker player this country has ever seen, and I can’t wait to see you take the title in May,” Josh reads, and then another brother steps forward, reading from his card next.
“No one cuddles better than you do.” The guys all laugh as he steps back, and then another card is read. And another. And another.
“There’s no one I’d rather split a twelve-pack with.”
“I would go to war for you if you asked.”
“Your laugh is the best sound in the world, and the only thing that makes me feel better on a shitty day.”
“There isn’t a girl on campus who looks better in cut-off shorts and a sorority jersey.”
A slew of whistles rings out at that and I laugh, blushing.
The list goes on and on, some of the cards making me smile, some making me laugh, and others making it really difficult not to cry. And after every brother standing in the living room and on the stairs lining to the upstairs has read their card, Clinton steps out from the back hallway, walking straight up to me.
“No matter how many cards I write, I could never truly tell you what you mean to me, Skyler,” he says, apologies in his eyes before he even says them. “You are my family — no, you’re more than family. You’re my best friend, and I’m so sorry I let you think for even one second that you don’t mean everything in the world to me, because you do. I am so, so sorry for being a giant dick. Will you please let me make it up to you by taking you to Semi-formal and being the best date you could ever ask for?”
I sniff, nodding with tears blurring my vision before launching at him. He catches me easily, wrapping me in the fiercest Bear Hug yet.
“You owe me so many burritos for this.”
All the guys laugh again, clapping and cheering, and Clinton high fives them and thanks a few as he tucks me under his arm, leading me back to his bedroom. I can still hear the guys laughing and joking with each other, reading the cards with girly voices as Clinton shuts the door behind us.
“Seriously, Skyler. I am so sorry.”
“No, no,” I shake my head, wrapping my small arms around him again and resting my head in the dip of his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before I did what I did. At the very least, I should have told you. It was selfish and stupid and—”
“It wasn’t selfish,” he says, cutting me off. “It was sweet and kind, and something I would have done for your family in the reverse. I just… I was upset, he’s my brother and I want to be the one to help him, to protect him. I needed a little bit of time to see past my pride, Skyler. And I’m sorry I took so long.”
He squeezes me tight, and when he pulls back, I grab his large hand and drag him to his bed, climbing in first and sighing with relief when he slides in behind me and wraps me in his arms again.
“I’ve missed you so much, Bear. Everything has been so hard without you.” My voice sounds small, weak.
“I know,” he says, kissing my hair. “I’m so sorry. Tell me everything. How many hearts have you broken since Halloween?”
I laugh. “Zero. Poker has been my only serious relationship this semester.”
“Well, who knows. Maybe next semester, some guy will sweep you off your feet and you’ll have a date in Vegas.”
Rolling my eyes, I twist in his arms and snuggle into his chest, his chin fitting on top of my head like we’re the last two puzzle pieces. And for the rest of the night, he catches me up on his life — including how his brother is doing in Pittsburgh — and I tell him my fears about the tournament, and how hard it will be to earn the last bit of the entry money.
Suddenly, everything is right in the world again.
I have no idea what next semester holds, or the rest of my life, for that matter. Maybe I’ll figure out my major, maybe I’ll win the poker tournament, or maybe I’ll still be a confused girl with a best friend who will support me no matter what happens.
And that’s more than okay with me.
WHEN I GET A TEXT from Skyler saying she’s staying at Clinton’s for the night, I breathe a sigh of relief, typing out a text to her that Jarrett and I are finally going to video chat in less than an hour. She wishes me luck and then I plug my phone into the charger, letting it get juiced as I do my makeup in the bathroom.
The last time we were supposed to video chat, I had been so excited.
Now, all I am is sick.
I ended up texting Jarrett the day after Thanksgiving, apologizing for everything and telling him I would give him his space, and to just call me when he was caught up on the project and a little less stressed out. I told him we could see each other over Christmas break, and that I understood, and that we would be okay. I thought it was the right thing to do — the mature thing to do — but when all he wrote back was a simple thanks, I wondered if it was already too late, if he would ever forgive me.
Ever since he went back to New York after coming to visit, everything with us has been so rocky. Between the communication breakdown and the long distance, my heart is raw and aching. He can’t hold me to make me feel better, and I can’t kiss him with my apologies. We can’t just jump in his truck and drive to the beach, splitting a joint and having sex until the sun rises. Everything about our relationship is different, and I’m not sure who we are in this new space.
As shitty as it is, Greg has been a huge help keeping my mind off Jarrett the last couple of weeks. He’s listened to me talk about Jarrett, offering advice when he had it and just a shoulder to lean on when he had nothing to say. He’s funny, and kind, and I appre
ciate his company. And maybe a small part of me realizes that I just enjoy the fact that a man cares about me, and is attracted to me, and is giving me attention.
Something else inside me, something deep in the trenches of thoughts I like to leave unthought, tells me this phone call is either going to make or break me and Jarrett. And as much as I have a whole string of apologies ready to go, I also have questions, and concerns, and things I want to talk about. I understand his side of things, how he needs me to be able to trust him and understand how demanding his job is, but relationships are about compromise — and I need love and support, too.
I feel so unlike myself, so vulnerable and defeated. The girls have started to notice, too — wondering where my spunk has gone, and I know I won’t get back to myself until I face whatever is about to happen with Jarrett.
When my makeup is flawless and my hair is straightened, I slip on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, propping my laptop up on my desk to wait for his call. And when his picture and name fill the screen at exactly ten o’clock, I take a deep breath and answer.
The screen is fuzzy at first, and when it clears, Jarrett is sitting at his small kitchen table, giving me a view of practically his entire studio apartment. The city lights burn through the window behind him, mixing with the low light of his apartment to cast him in a soft glow. Finally seeing his face, his lips, his eyes — it hurts as much as it heals.
“Hi,” I breathe, a weary smile finding my lips.
“Hi.”
I watch him for a moment, wishing so badly he was here. I just want to touch him, to hold him, to have him hold me. “I wish I could jump through this screen right now.”
His eyes are sad, defeated, and he only nods in response.
It’s strange, how someone you love can seem so foreign in moments like these, moments when everything hangs in the balance.
Steeling myself, I sit up a little straighter and start my long list of apologies. “Listen, I am so sorry I went off on you for missing our date. That was an immature reaction and a little dramatic and I wish I could take it back. I know you had a long day and I know you can’t help what projects you get put on or whom with. I want to be more supportive, but… I need you to understand my side of things, too. I need—”
“It’s over.”
I pause, mouth still hanging open, the words I’d planned to say next frozen in my throat. I close my mouth, open it again, nose flaring and eyes watering as I try to convince myself I didn’t just hear the man I love tell me he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.
“Wh-what?”
“It’s over, Jess. We, this,” he motions to the screen and back to himself. “I can’t… I won’t do this anymore.”
Shock rips through me, my head shaking of its own accord. I knew this phone call wouldn’t be pretty, I knew he was upset, I knew there were things to be said and to be decided but still, even if I pretended to prepare for the worst, I didn’t actually think it would happen.
How can Jarrett break up with me? After all we’ve been through, after all he’s said, after all we’ve promised?
“Jarrett, we can work through this. I said I’m sorry, I… I’ll try harder. I’ll do better. It’s just a silly fight, it isn’t—”
“I saw the picture.” His eyes bore holes through mine from thousands of miles away, the heart he always keeps sheltered now bloody and marred on his sleeve for me to see. “I don’t play these games. I put up with you parading other guys in front of me last year, trying to make me jealous, playing me like I’m just another guy to you but I thought we were past that.”
Panic rises in my throat like bile. “He’s just a friend, Jarrett. I met him that night, we just talked. I swear, that’s all.”
“But you went into that bar on a mission, didn’t you? A mission to find a poor sap to twirl around your finger and make me jealous. You thought it’d make me call you. You thought it’d make me, what? Worship you?”
I shake my head frantically, tears rushing my eyes and billowing down my cheeks before I can stop them. “I didn’t… Yes, I wanted your attention, but I didn’t do anything with him. I promise. And he posted the picture, not me.”
“But he tagged you,” Jarrett points out. “Which I’m sure you asked him to do.”
“Please,” I beg, reaching out to touch the screen. “Just let me come see you. Let’s talk about this in person. You don’t mean this, you don’t—”
“YOU HAD ME, JESS!” he yells, his face twisting as I choke on a sob. “You had me, and now you don’t. It shouldn’t be like this, I shouldn’t have to choose between you and my career, or worry about how you’ll react to me working with another female. It’s just like the surf lessons last year. Nothing I say to you and nothing I do will ever convince you that I am yours, and I have continually paid the price. Do you know how sick I’ve been, wondering what you did with that guy to get back at me?”
“I didn’t,” I try, but my voice breaks.
“I love you. And you said you loved me, too.” He shakes his head, jaw tight. “This isn’t how you treat someone you love.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke, letting the tears run. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” he says, finally lifting his eyes to mine. He searches them, looking for the girl he knew, the girl he fell in love with. When he shakes his head, I know he’s come up empty handed. “I have to go.”
“Jarrett, please.”
But the screen just goes dark like the rest of my world.
I’ve read about these sensory deprivation tanks, where you lie in a tub of water filled with Epson salt to make you float in a soundproof pod with no light. You just float there, completely weightless, emerging on the other side of the experience almost as if in a trance. Some claim it has healing effects, others claim hallucination.
That’s the closest comparison I can make to how I feel right now, lying on my bedroom floor, in the exact same place I fell last night after Jarrett ended our call. I only know it’s morning because light started breaking through the curtains at some point, though I have no idea how long ago that was. Everything is numb. Everything is on fire. My eyes sting and burn, my brain replaying every word he said, every word he didn’t. But somewhere in the numb of the night, I came to a conclusion.
I don’t want to fall apart.
I earned my nickname, J-Love, because when I was younger I said I loved pretty much any guy who gave me his attention. And though what I had with Jarrett was much realer than that, in the end, I can’t help but feel like I lost a little part of myself with him, too. I don’t want to let the end of our relationship be the end of me.
I know I’ll need to break, and cry, and I know in the deepest part of my being that there is no getting over Jarrett. Not really. He will always own a part of my heart, and losing him will forever be one of my biggest regrets. But I want to grieve in silence, alone.
Jess Vonnegut is a bad ass. She is a vixen, a fighter, a man-eater, a tough bitch. She doesn’t stop the party for any drama, and she doesn’t stop her life for any boy.
Swiping at my face as if it isn’t already dry, I crawl to the desk and pull my phone down, sinking against the drawers as I type out a text to Greg.
- Take a break from studying turtle facts tonight and go to Semi-formal with me. -
I drop the phone to the floor beside me, kneading my temples, my head throbbing between my fingers. When my phone buzzes, I unlock it quickly, smiling as much as I physically can in this moment at his response.
- I’ll bring the vodka. -
And I’m not sure how much longer I lie there before eventually peeling myself off the floor, along with what’s left of my dignity, holding onto it as tight as I can. Soon, the girls are all getting ready, music blasting, makeup and hair product everywhere. I tell them about Jarrett with a straight face, my tears all spilled last night, and they console me. Ashlei asks if I want to skip Semi. Skyler wants me to talk about it. But I decline both offers, telling them I already invited
Greg, and I’m fine.
It’s a lie, and they know it, but they don’t press me on it.
At least for tonight, I’m going to be okay. I’m going to dance and sing, laugh and party, and pretend like everything will be okay. I’ll fake it until I make it — make it back home, that is. And then, I’ll have three weeks of winter break to get over it.
That’s that.
When the limos are pulling up outside, I pull up Jarrett’s name and type out one last text before blocking his number and tucking my phone in my clutch, ripping the Band-Aid off, ready to scab and heal.
- I will always love you. -
“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”
I hear my brothers chanting as Skyler and I race to see who finishes our beer first, which is ridiculous, really, because she’s a tiny little peanut compared to me. It’s kind of comical watching her throw down when she’s dressed to the nines, beer dripping down her chin and landing on the large gold necklace she’s paired with her burgundy dress. In the end, I finish first, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist and joining in with my brothers chanting as she finishes.
She’s just as smiley as she would have been had she won, holding up her empty glass in victory as her sisters cheer. Then she grabs my hand, pulling me back out onto the dance floor.
Everything is back to normal now that I finally manned up and apologized to Skyler. She deserved it way earlier than it happened, but thankfully she’d still accepted. Once I talked to my baby brother and heard the whole story from him, I knew I was being an ass — hell, I knew it before then — but it helped me clear my mind enough to realize I was in the wrong.
So, I booked a flight home in a little over a week for winter break to stay at Mac’s place and help Clayton find a job, or at least some way to earn some extra cash. I also made it clear that next time he was worried about money, I wanted him to come to me — even if he felt like I was busy or he didn’t want to bother me. Then, I got my brothers together and made a plan to apologize to Skyler.
Palm South University: Season 3 Box Set Page 21
