Bend Me, Break Me

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “Fine, be that way,” he said, and then changed the subject to a party he wanted me to go to with him this weekend.

  “I mean, it will probably get busted, knowing the guys who are throwing it, but it could be fun until then. Besides, I know where the fire escape is and I can park my car strategically in case we need to make a quick getaway.” Marty was lucky because his two older brothers had also gone to school here and had passed on their wisdom. He also knew a ton of people already, but he always included me, which he didn’t have to do. Although, it did make me feel like a charity case.

  “I don’t know…” I said. I’d been dragging my feet on going out socially. I didn’t care about making friends or partying or any of that stuff right now. It distracted me from the reason I came here.

  “Come on. You won’t regret it.” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Okay,” he conceded, “I can’t promise that, but I can promise that you may not regret it.” I laughed a little. Marty put a positive spin on almost everything.

  “Fine, fine,” I said. I knew if I put him off too many times, he’d stop asking and stop hanging out with me and I didn’t want to live with someone who hated me.

  “Sweet, it’s on.”

  I was probably going to regret this.

  I decided to get out of my room to study on Friday night. The library had special weekend hours and if I wanted to, I could basically sleep there and no one would bother me. Just the way I liked it.

  My economics reading was drier than dry and I kept flashing back to the last couple of classes. They were now tainted by him. The guy whose name I didn’t even know who seemed to want to talk to me for some reason. I knew he saw me, just as I saw him, but today he hadn’t sat near me.

  Maybe he just thought I was cute and had been getting up the courage to ask me out. That was all well and good, but I wasn’t going out with anyone. There was no point. It would never go anywhere. So, if I ignored him enough, he’d get the idea and then move on to someone happier. Someone nicer. Someone not like me.

  I saved my English 100 homework for last, since it was my favorite. I hadn’t picked a major yet, but I knew I wanted to take as many English classes as possible.

  My assignment was to read five chapters in Emma and then summarize them. I was reading the book for the third time, so I could have done the assignment without doing the reading. My professor didn’t seem to care much if we did our assignments well, as long as they were done. He would just scan them, his pen moving along the lines and then write 100 on top. I hoped my more advanced English classes would be better.

  While it wasn’t my favorite Austen work, it was better than reading about that insufferable Fanny Price in Mansfield Park, so I had to count myself lucky in that respect.

  I ended up curling up on a cushy chair in the back corner of the third floor of the library and reading most of the book, my earbuds playing music softly.

  It was nice. I rarely got moments of pleasure like this. I allowed myself a smile. The action was strange and unnatural. I had no idea what I looked like when I did it. Not good, probably.

  I used to smile. I used to laugh. I used to be a lot of things. Now I didn’t know who I was and didn’t plan on figuring it out. Just getting through the day was work enough without putting that on the list.

  My eyes got heavy and I let myself have a short nap, setting my cell phone alarm to go off in an hour. There wasn’t anyone around, so I didn’t worry about disturbing someone when it went off.

  The alarm rang much too soon and I didn’t want to open my eyes, but I had to get back to my room. I packed up my bag and stretched my back and neck until they popped before heading out.

  I enjoyed campus at this time of night. It was quiet and still. Most of the parties happened off-campus, so noise on Friday night was rarely an issue. Walking alone was probably not the best idea for me, but I didn’t care.

  I didn’t care about a whole lot anymore.

  As I walked, I started writing a new poem in my head, but all I could come up with were random words with no definitive order. My muse, or whatever was responsible for the words in my head, was finicky and showed up whenever she wanted.

  Just as I reached the front door of my dorm and was ready to swipe my card to get in, a group of laughing girls burst through, nearly smashing me in the face with the door.

  “Oops, sorry,” one of them said and then they were off, all holding onto one another. They were happy. I remembered being happy.

  Driving around with my best friend Beth, looking for anything to do in our small town. Going to pep rallies and cheering like maniacs for our school. Birthdays and Christmases and holidays. Fireworks and ice cream and swimming in the lake. Hanging out in someone’s basement and sneaking beer from the fridge. Laughing uncontrollably over some inside joke. Worrying about my eyebrows and shaving my legs and if I was going to get asked out.

  Gone. All gone. Taken away.

  For a moment, I imagined myself running up to those girls and asking where they were going and if I could come.

  But it wouldn’t be real. I could pretend to be them. Pretend to be happy, but that wouldn’t make it true.

  Sighing, I walked through the door and headed toward the stairs to my room.

  I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the weekend. Much like the weekend before that. It was probably what I would end up doing next weekend, too.

  I napped, did my homework and then some, binged on bad TV, got a few naps in and subsisted mostly on granny smith apples, peanut butter, crackers and tea.

  I finished another poem and posted it. I wanted to take it down immediately, but I always felt that way, so I let it stay up. Most of the time I didn’t read the comments since sometimes they weren’t very kind. I’d only started posting my poems this summer after following a bunch of other poets and wishing I could do my own. So I did. And I allowed myself a smile when I got up to 100 likes.

  I stared out my window on Sunday afternoon and watched the people walk by below. Judging by their attire, it was a warm day, unusual this late in the fall. Once again, I thought about going and joining them, but closed the curtain instead.

  Sunday night it happened again.

  I had the nightmare and woke up just before I started screaming, my body shaking and sweating and my heart pounding so hard I was afraid it was going to smash my ribs and break free of my chest.

  It had been a few weeks since I last had it, and I’d thought, maybe, it was gone for good. But it was never gone. Would never be gone because it wasn’t a manifestation of my fears that would never happen. It had happened. This was just a replay. Putting me through it again, repeating the past and ripping me apart again.

  Sitting up, I brushed my sweaty hair out of my face and got out of bed. My television was still on, so I turned up the volume and turned on the lights. I wasn’t sleeping again tonight. My hand shook on the light switch and as I reached for a bottle of water.

  I had considered using sleeping pills to get me through the nights, but the nightmare still came, only in a warped fashion that was somehow even worse. So I was stuck this way.

  I wanted to read, but I knew that would tire my eyes but not my brain, so I forced them to focus on the frenetic movements of the characters in one of my favorite shows. Reaching into the fridge, I grabbed an energy drink and took a couple of sips for good measure. I didn’t like the way it made me feel, all shaky and nervous, but it was better than having the nightmare again.

  Anything was better than that.

  She was pale on Monday, as if she was sick, or hadn’t slept. I’d noticed that on the first day. That she had dark circles under her eyes all the time, just barely visible under a layer of makeup.

  It made me want to ask her to tell me why she wasn’t sleeping. It made me want to give her a hug. Hold her and tell her it was going to be okay. I wanted to do… something.

  I seized my moment when she was leaving. I’d taken the seat closest to the stairs and above her, so she
’d have to walk by me when she left.

  Her eyes stayed on the steps as she ascended, both hands gripping her backpack straps, as if she needed something to hold onto.

  “Hey,” I said as she passed me. I knew she saw me.

  She didn’t answer, so I got out of my seat and walked behind her. No one else noticed our interaction; they were too busy with their own lives.

  “I’m not a stalker, I swear,” I said and it did the trick. She stopped and slowly pivoted around to face me.

  “What?” She met my eyes with hers and it nearly knocked the air out of my lungs. I had to swallow a few times and remind myself that she had no idea who I was.

  “I said that I’m not stalking you. In case you were worried I was going to show up at your dorm room in the middle of the night or something.” I tried to play it off like a joke, but it didn’t work very well.

  She blinked at me a few times and I thought she was going to turn her back on me again, but then she opened her mouth.

  “What’s your problem?” Well, that was a loaded question without an easy answer.

  “Nothing. I just… I don’t know.” I shrugged and her brows drew together in confusion. I’d thought so many times about getting to this point and now I was fucking it up again.

  “You just… think I’m cute? Want my number? Want to take me back to your room while your roommate is gone, bang me and then tell all your friends about it and never speak to me again?”

  Whoa. Of all the things I expected her to say to me, none of those had crossed my mind. Her eyes darted around as people passed by. I was making myself late for my American Government class, but I didn’t give a shit at this moment. Because she was actually talking to me.

  “Uh, no,” I sputtered. It took me a second to regroup.

  “No? So what do you want from me?” She crossed her arms and I saw a hint of fire in her eyes that I’d never seen before.

  “I just want to buy you a cup of coffee. Or tea. Or whatever you might want to drink. That’s it.” I held my hands up and then dropped them to my sides.

  She narrowed her eyes and studied me for what felt like an eternity.

  “You want to buy me a cup of coffee.” She didn’t phrase it like a question.

  “Yes,” I said. She uncrossed her arms and looked over her shoulder.

  “If I do this with you, will you do something for me?” I nodded even before she told me what it was. She could have told me to set myself on fire and I would have done it.

  “After we have coffee, you never speak to me again.” I agreed before I had time to think about it.

  She took a deep breath and shrugged.

  “Okay then. Let’s have coffee.”

  She kept giving me darting glances as we walked the short distance to the little coffee shop next to the library. I wished we were walking slower, so I could have more time with her.

  “Aren’t you going to talk?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t sure if that was allowed,” I said and she shrugged again.

  “I don’t know what this is about, or what your motive is, or why you’re doing this. I’m not…” She trailed off and then shook her head as we reached the door. I held it open for her and she paused for a second before walking in, ducking her head so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with anyone.

  Luck was in my favor as we found a table for two in the very back corner. Quiet and private, which was what I needed.

  “What would you like?” I asked her as she set her bag down and raked her hair back from her face with both hands.

  “I don’t care,” she said and for a moment I thought about calling it off. She just looked so tired, resting her head on her hand and closing her eyes for a second.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said and walked around the corner to the counter to order, hoping she’d still be at the table when I got back.

  I thought about leaving. Something about this whole incident seemed off. He didn’t appear to care about my name or anything else about me. Perhaps he was on some sort of mission; to reach out to the lost. Maybe he thought I needed saving. Little did he know, I was far beyond that.

  My curiosity got the better of me, so I waited for him to come back with the coffee. I didn’t plan on drinking whatever it was he brought me. My agreeing to come here with him was enough. He would have to live with that.

  He came back a few minutes later and in addition to two cups, he had a muffin and a scone on a plate.

  I wasn’t hungry.

  “I got you a green tea,” he said. Surprising. “I also got a latte, if you’d prefer that instead. And if you want something else, I can go get that.” I took the tea from his hand, our fingers just barely brushing. I almost jerked my hand back, but then the cup would have fallen and made this already awkward encounter worse.

  He set the plate down between us, as if he was waiting for me to choose what I wanted and then he’d take the leftovers. So I pushed the plate toward him and took a sip of my tea. It was perfect. Not too sweet and not too bitter.

  “I’m not hungry,” I said, but he didn’t touch the plate. Silence fell between us, punctured by the hum of everything around us. Plates and cups clinking. Laughter and conversation.

  “I’m guessing I should probably introduce myself,” he said after taking a sip of the latte.

  “That might be a start. Since you asked me to coffee without even asking me my name.” His eyes went wide and he coughed.

  “Right, of course. Well, I’m Coen LaCour.” He stuck his hand at me across the table. As if I was supposed to shake it like this was a normal meeting. I looked at the hand and waited for him to drop it. If I was too friendly, I was going to give him the wrong idea. He’d agreed to leave me alone after today, but I didn’t think, given his previous persistence, he would stick to the deal.

  I had to admit, I did like his name. It was unusual. Something you didn’t forget easily.

  Thinking I could at least give him the courtesy of my name, I spoke.

  “Ingrid. Ingrid Alexander.” He smiled a little. As if my name pleased him. He finally dropped his hand and then reached for the muffin.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ingrid.” It was strange, hearing someone use my name. I didn’t hear it often anymore.

  “What do you want from me, Coen LaCour?” I asked, wrapping both hands around the cup. I wasn’t cold, but I needed something to do. Something to hold onto before I could get out of her and be alone again.

  He opened his mouth, thought better of it and then took a bite of muffin, chewing thoughtfully, as if deciding on the right words. I didn’t like that. I didn’t want him telling me words he thought I wanted to hear.

  “Right now, I just want to have coffee with you, Ingrid.” That didn’t answer my question.

  “Why?” I asked, looking directly into his green eyes. They were bright, even in this darkened corner.

  “Don’t you ever feel like doing something nice for someone?” Just as I suspected. I got to my feet, the chair scraping horribly against the slate tiles of the floor.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. I didn’t like this. Not at all.

  “I’m leaving. I don’t need some stranger buying me tea because he feels sorry for me. Or he’s got a savior complex, or he’s trying to get extra karma points. My life is none of your business.” Standing there and looking at him just made me angrier. I had to get out of there.

  I stumbled away from him, but he grabbed my arm.

  “Let go of me!” I screamed. I was causing a scene, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be left alone. Why couldn’t he leave me alone?

  “I’m sorry, Ingrid,” he said, raising his hands as if to surrender.

  “Fuck you,” I spat in his face and rushed out of the shop and straight back to my room, slamming the door behind me.

  If there were an award for fucking things up with Ingrid, I was sure to win it. I just couldn’t seem to figure out what to do to break through
. She had walls built on top of walls and for good reason. I understood why she insulated herself. Kept others away. I just… I needed to find a way to get through to her. I had to, or else all of this would have been for nothing.

  After the disaster at the coffee shop, I went back to my room and got on my computer. I spent the next few hours just staring at her Facebook page. She hadn’t updated it in months. The last few posts had been pictures of her with friends, or funny memes or jokes.

  She’d been… normal. A normal eighteen-year-old girl with hopes and dreams and insecurities and a whole life planned out.

  I clicked out of the tab and rubbed my face with my hands. It might be time to ask for some help.

  “So you’re asking me, since you know I have game and you don’t,” Marty said that night. I’d bribed him with going off-campus and getting burritos at our favorite Mexican place. They were big enough for three people, so the bang was worth the buck.

  “I guess.” I’d told him I saw a cute girl in one of my classes, but that all my attempts to get her attention had been ignored. It was mostly true.

  He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

  “Well, well, well. This explains why you were all emo and weird last week. Okay, so tell me about her.” I didn’t want to, but I was desperate.

  “She’s shy and her name’s Ingrid and she’s in my economics class and she likes tea. That’s about it.” I knew a hell of a lot more than I was telling him, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “That’s it?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I mean, I’d thought at least there would be something that made her stand out.” Oh, there were plenty of things that made her stand out.

  “She’s just… You know how you meet someone and you just feel like you’ve known them for a long time? Or that you have so many things in common, it’s hard to believe? She’s like that. I just know.”