Practice to Deceive

by Olivia Evans

  “I know,” I agreed, feeling the familiar tingle of anxiety spread through my body.

  “I won’t turn my back on you, because you’re my family and I love you, regardless of how little I like you right now. But make no mistake, we are not okay.” She stood, moving around the side of the table, and grabbed her glass of wine.

  “If you can’t fix this, Brennan,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You have no one but yourself to blame.” She turned and left the room, her bedroom door clicking shut behind her.

  I stood from the couch, my nerves coiling my muscles into knots so tight, they physically hurt. I shuffled to my room and pulled out clean clothes, wanting to wash away all traces of my confrontation with Matt.

  As pissed as I was at him, a part of me knew that had I dealt with this situation months ago, none of this would have happened. Had I told her everything, maybe— I shook my head. There were no maybes, do-overs, or what-ifs. There was only now and the situation I’d created.

  I stood under the spray of water and tried to come up with a plan. I had to figure out how to convince her to listen to me, to make her believe what we have is real, but mostly make her see how much I love her.

  The afternoon passed quietly. Drew had come home earlier and gone straight to his room. I could hear quiet murmurs through the wall as he and Rachel talked, but for the most part, they seemed to be okay. I was grateful because as torn up as I was about my situation with Skylar, I’d never forgive myself if I caused Drew to lose Rachel.

  The more time that passed, the more restless I became. I paced from the living room to the kitchen and back to my bedroom again, my phone clutched in my hand.

  Where was she? Was anyone with her? I couldn’t stop the barrage of questions from running through my head on replay. She wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, but maybe she’d picked up a shift, maybe someone had called in sick.

  Before I gave myself a chance to second-guess my decision, I grabbed my keys and flew out the door. I wouldn’t try to talk to her if she was working, but I just wanted to see her. I needed to see that she was okay. By the time I reached the front of the coffee shop, my hands were sweating and my mouth was completely dry. I slowed my pace and shifted so I could see through the front glass. Several people were lined up in front of the counter, but after I watched for several minutes, it was clear Skylar wasn’t there.

  I closed my eyes and sighed before walking back across campus. I wondered how long I could realistically give Skylar the space she needed. She obviously wasn’t ready to talk to me since she’d yet to turn her phone on.

  I passed the library, memories of the last time we were there flooding my mind. Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of places we’d been and things we’d done. It almost seemed as if I was subconsciously being led to locations that held memories of her. That theory was confirmed when I found myself standing in front of her apartment.

  I pulled my phone from my jeans and stared at it, warring with myself over whether I should knock on her door or try calling her again. I climbed the stairs, unable to fight the pull to be closer to her, to a place that was a constant for her.

  I dropped my forehead against the door, bringing my hand to rest beside my head, my palm flattened and pressed into the wood. For the first time all day, I felt some of the anxiety leak from my body, my chest a little less weighted. I opened my phone and scrolled to her name. I knew she wouldn’t answer, but there was one thing I couldn’t leave unsaid for another moment. Her phone went straight to voice mail, just like it had every other time I’d called. Except this time, I waited for the message to end and for the beep to sound.

  “Skylar, hey. It’s me.” I balled my hand into a fist and pushed against the door as I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “I know you probably hate me so fucking much right now that the sound of my voice is making you sick. I also know that it doesn’t matter one fucking bit that I was going to tell you everything yesterday, because you wouldn’t believe me anyway.” I twisted my body until my back was flush to the door, and I slid to the floor. I pulled my knees into my chest and let my head fall as I continued to talk, as I tried to find the words to explain. “But you need to know that not everything you were told yesterday was the truth. I wasn’t with Terri. I haven’t been with anyone since the moment you agreed to go out with me. I may be a lot of things, but a cheater isn’t one of them. You have to know that. I’d never cheat on you, baby,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I choked on my words. “And I meant what I said yesterday. I know the timing was shitty, but I love you so fucking much. Please. Please don’t tell me it’s over, that you can’t forgive me. If you need time, I’ll give you time. I’ll give you whatever you need. I’ll wait forever for you, Skylar.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and pressed it against my forehead as I ended the call. Completely drained, I slumped forward, my arms folded over my knees, my face resting on my arms. I didn’t want to leave; I didn’t want to go back to my apartment and face Rachel and Drew, to find my room empty and cold. Sitting on the floor in front of her apartment was the closest I’d felt to her since she’d walked out of my apartment yesterday, and I was in no hurry for that feeling to end.

  Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated. ~Lamartine

  May 2016

  It’d been a week since Skylar stormed out of my apartment. I continued to call and text her randomly, not wanting to overwhelm her, but fuck, I needed her to know I wasn’t giving up. Her absence from my life took a part of me and left nothing but a black void in its place. I missed talking to her, holding her, just being with her. Every day seemed harder than the last, and all I could wonder was when would it become too much.

  There was only so much heartache a person could take before it broke them. I thought about the little things I’d taken for granted, the moments I’d allowed to slip through my fingers, and how their memory became a source of daily torment. The weekend passed painfully slowly. I kept my phone with me at all times, hoping she’d call and praying she wouldn’t. As long as I didn’t hear from her, I could believe I still had a chance, that even though she was hurt and pissed, we’d talk eventually.

  I just had to give her time.

  Time.

  That word had become my mantra. The problem with that was it also measured every moment she was gone. After a sleepless Sunday night, my foggy brain let Monday morning serve as the cruelest of reminders of exactly how much my life would be changed without her.

  On autopilot, my feet carried me to the coffee shop, my mind foolishly hoping she’d be sitting at our usual table with a cup of coffee clutched between her hands, smiling sleepily as she leaned up from her chair, pressing her lips to mine and whispering a quiet “Good morning.”

  But she wasn’t there, and in her place sat another girl smiling softly at a guy across from her, their hands clasped under the table. I felt sick and irrationally pissed at the same time. It felt as though we’d been replaced by another couple, a couple that didn’t have lies and deceit hovering over them, turning their relationship into something ugly.

  However, by Wednesday afternoon, I’d have given anything to go back to Monday. The brutality I’d felt on Monday was nothing compared to the all-consuming hopelessness I felt when I laid eyes on Skylar for the first time. She was cutting across the quad, her books clutched to her chest, her head down.

  I stopped dead in my tracks and watched her pass, my eyes drinking in every detail, because she was so fucking close. As if she could feel my gaze, she lifted her head, her eyes locking with mine and causing her steps to falter. Her face seemed paler than usual, her eyes darker and just so fucking sad.

  My entire body was strung tight, the pull in my chest straining to be closer, to touch her. I wanted, fucking needed to pull her against my chest and tell her how sorry I was and that I loved her more than anything.

  I sucked in a deep breath and, with our gazes locked, took a step toward her. I froze when I saw the flash of
pain that crossed her face as she clenched her eyes shut and shook her head. She hesitated only a second before spinning on her heel and taking off in the opposite direction, but not fast enough for me to miss the twin trails of tears that spilled down her cheeks.

  I gritted my teeth against the ache of seeing her cry, the ache of knowing I was the reason for her tears. My efforts weren’t enough to stop my face from mirroring hers, my eyes burning as tears gathered and fell. I lifted my shoulder and pressed my cheek against it, letting the fabric of my shirt absorb the emotions my body couldn’t.

  For the next two weeks, like a complete fucking masochist, I couldn’t stop myself from showing up where I knew she’d be. I stayed out of sight, convincing myself it was because I didn’t want to upset her, but the truth was, watching her walk away twice nearly crippled me. I couldn’t do it again.

  I tried to occupy my time, to channel everything into feeling some semblance of control over my life. I woke up early, I studied, I kept to myself, and I ran. It had become a ritual, and this morning was no different.

  My chest burned as I pulled steady, measured breaths into my lungs. My feet pounded against the pavement, matching the pulsing beat of the music in my ears. My muscles strained and shook as I pushed myself harder, fighting back fatigue as my body greedily drank the last reserves of my energy.

  I rounded the final corner onto my street and sprinted the distance to the front of my building, my legs wobbling before I collapsed onto the cement steps out front. Draping my arms over my knees, I leaned forward to catch my breath, the music still blaring in my ears, the beat softer, slower. It was why I didn’t hear anyone approach until a shoe flashed in front of me and nudged my foot. I jerked my head up, my mouth falling open as I stared at the familiar face in front of me. I yanked the buds from my ears, my mouth opening and closing several times as I tried to figure out what to say.

  “Brennan.” Preston nodded, hands shoved into his pockets, his face giving nothing away.

  “Preston, hey, man. What, uh, are you doing here?” I’d just run eight miles and could barely stand; he wouldn’t get much of a fight from me if that was what he was looking for. Not that I’d fight him anyway. I’d accepted the fact that I deserved everything I got at this point.

  “I’m here to pick you up. We’re going fishing today, remember?” he asked, casually dropping onto the step beside me and stretching out his legs.

  “I, uh, didn’t realize we were still going. I mean—” I grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed, the fingers of my other hand tapping against my thigh. I huffed out a breath, willing my hand to still.

  “Have you talked to Skylar?” I asked quietly. There was no way he’d be here if so.

  “Yup,” he answered. “I talked to her this morning, as a matter of fact. Now, are you going fishing like that, or do you need to change before we meet Martin?”

  Martin? Oh, fuck no. My heartbeat quickened and my hands began to sweat as I thought about Martin and his many, many guns. Martin was going to shoot me and dump my body in the middle of the lake.

  “Oh, man,” Preston chuckled. “I knew I should have recorded this. Your face, dude. Shit.” He shook his head, a wry grin lingering on his lips.

  “Wouldn’t want any evidence,” I muttered, shifting away from him.

  “Everything’s fine. Well, not fine, but Martin wants to talk to you. I even called Drew to tag along. He should be getting ready now.”

  “Look, man, I don’t know if this is such a good idea. I don’t want to piss Skylar off any more than she already is. There was some shit she was told that wasn’t true, and if she still believes it…”

  Preston groaned and rubbed his hand over his face before twisting his body toward me, his face scrunched, conflicted. “Shit, I told her that I didn’t want to play messenger, that if she wanted to talk to you, she should call you herself.” He sighed. “But you are one sad-looking bastard, so I’ll tell you what she told me.”

  My entire body went rigid as I waited for him to speak. She wanted him to tell me something? Was she going to give me a chance to explain? Was she going to tell me to fuck off and to quit calling her? And why the fuck was it taking Preston so long to tell me what she said?

  “C’mon, man, you’re killing me here,” I begged. Yes, I begged.

  “She got your voice mail about Terri.”

  The air escaped my lungs, and I relaxed my shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “And?” I pushed, needing to know anything he was willing to share.

  “She’s…conflicted?” he asked more than stated, as if he was unsure exactly how to describe what she was feeling.

  “Conflicted? As in, she doesn’t believe me? Fuck,” I groaned, jumping to my feet. “I messed up so fucking bad—”

  “Yeah, you did,” he cut in. “And I don’t know all the details, but some of the shit she told Grace she read in your journal…” He whistled lowly. “You’re lucky I didn’t let Grace loose on you.”

  “Exactly. I said some horrible shit, acted like a dick, and could not have been more of an all-around asshole if I tried. So, forgive me if I’m a little confused as to why you’re sitting here talking to me instead of punching my face in. And more importantly, why Martin has any interest in seeing me unless it’s to put a bullet in my ass.”

  “Okay, let’s start with your first question,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “I said Skylar was conflicted. I never said she didn’t believe you. That’s a lot of shit for someone to take all at once, and she needs to sort through everything. Honestly, I don’t know if things will ever work out between you two. All I know is that she wanted me to tell you she got your message and that she needs time.”

  I chose to ignore his comment about his uncertainty of us working things out and instead focus on what else he’d said. “Time? I can do that. I can give her time. I just can’t have her thinking I don’t care,” I mumbled, pacing in front of the steps.

  “And as far as why I’m not punching you and Martin isn’t pointing a gun at you, well, that’s for Martin to explain.”

  I nodded in acceptance. I wasn’t going to be able to avoid Martin unless I never planned on seeing Skylar again. Since just the very thought of that made me want to vomit, it wasn’t an option. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Skylar’s your family, and I hurt her. The fact that you’re even speaking to me is more than I deserve.”

  “Brennan, move your ass. We’re losing daylight,” Drew yelled from the top of the stairs before Preston had a chance to respond.

  I sighed and moved toward the stairs. “Give me ten minutes.”

  I ran into the bathroom and stripped out of my sweaty clothes, taking the fastest shower of my life before throwing on some old clothes and pulling on my Vans. My whole body thrummed with nerves as I tried to prepare myself for seeing Martin face-to-face. The ride to the lake was quiet. Drew and Preston spoke occasionally but left me alone, which I appreciated since I sure as hell wasn’t in any frame of mind to carry on a conversation.

  Martin stood by his car as we parked. My eyes dropped of their own accord when I noticed him watching us. I wondered, not for the first time, how I was going to look this man in the eye after what I’d done to his daughter.

  As soon as we climbed out of Preston’s car and moved our gear to the boat, Martin came up behind me and slapped me on the shoulder before shoving a beer into my chest.

  “Damn, you’re an idiot, son,” Martin scolded, his voice colored with disappointment.

  “Among other things,” I added, because idiot was putting it nicely.

  He grunted and threw his cooler into the boat, then motioned for me to get in. We were quiet while we moved to the middle of the lake, everyone busying themselves with getting their fishing poles ready. After we stopped and cast our lines, I decided to man up and ask the question that was driving me insane.

  “Why’d you still want me to come here today?” I asked, my eyes darting to Martin then back to the lak
e.

  “Well,” he sighed. “I like to think I’m a good judge of character. From the time I’ve spent with you and the way you dote on my daughter, either I’m losing my touch, or you’re one hell of an actor.”

  “It’s not an act,” I blurted out, not wanting him to think there was any hesitation in my thoughts.

  He nodded. “Didn’t think so. I still ought to kick your ass for making my little girl cry. And to be fair, I haven’t entirely ruled out that option.” His pointed glare let me know he wasn’t kidding.

  I swallowed and looked at my hands. “That’s fair.”

  “It is,” he said, his voice firm. “But it wouldn’t solve shit.” He pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his hair before putting it back on and grabbing another beer. “I tend to mind my own business and let Skylar handle her own affairs, but when Grace came banging down my door, demanding I shoot or maim you somehow, well, I had no choice but to listen.”

  “Told you,” Preston mumbled across from me while Drew coughed back a laugh.

  Martin shook his head. “What she told me, well, it just doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. I understand that you were angry, but that had to be about the stupidest damn idea I’d ever heard.”

  “That wasn’t me,” I promised. “I’ve never been that kind of person. I hate who I became.” I took a pull from my beer, my mouth bone-dry.

  “Look, we’ve all made mistakes. We’ve done things we want to kick our own asses for, and whether we want to admit it or not, we’ve hurt the ones we love. All I’m telling you is, if you want something, you’ve got to fight for it. Don’t give up, because you’ll have nothing but regret.” His voice had dropped, and when I looked at him, he was staring out over the water, a faraway look in his eye. I got the feeling he wasn’t talking about me anymore.

  “I’m not giving up. I know I messed up, but—” I groaned in frustration, trying to find the words to make him understand how determined I was to fix the mistakes I’d made.